The disused railway cut through the wood from Hob’s Cross all the way to Wykeham before it disappeared into the tunnel. They said it was bricked up, but you’d never meet anyone who’d been in far enough to confirm it.
People walked there, at weekends. Families on bikes whirred alongside the tracks. On weekdays teenagers played truant, smoking stolen cigarettes behind the rotten signal station, risking sexual adventures with each other.
It’s where they found that body that time. In the brambles, white with frost.
People said the tracks went on forever. They probably would.
This is a 100-word flash fiction story, prompted by the picture you can see up there, as part of Friday Fictioneers.
Click here if you’d like to take part, and click here to read other pieces.
Simon John Cox 
I like that last line. It brings together the whole timeless quality of this piece. Nice job.
-David
Good one – getting steadily eerier and culminating in a great last line.
Good job of slowly drawing us in and then extending the story much farther than we thought it would go.
janet
Well written – not a word wasted.
Evocative and masterful use of 100 words. Bravo!
I so like the mood here.. like everything happened and still nothing changes..
Thanks for your kind words here, everyone. I'm flattered!
nice twist
Dear Simon John,
You leave us with quite a mystery, Well done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
Snatches of lives. Snatches of time. Stories overlayered. I found this very visual. They do go on forever, those tracks. :)