Flash Fiction Friday - Illuminated

He found her as he did every morning, walking barefoot along the railroad tracks, face to the sun, eyes lost in a golden haze. She claimed the light was best there; he begged her to consider the danger. And every morning, she smiled at him, turning her face momentarily from the light, looking down into his eyes, and he knew she was his for another day. One more day.

Later, after he bundled her back to his loft, holding her close in a vain attempt to stop her shivering, they made love, always the same way, always with his hope to tie her to him but his knowledge that she belonged in the sun. Later still, as the sun went down, she seemed to glow for an instant in the fading light, then in the darkness she cried out in pain every night.

But he went on waking at dawn, staggering out down the street to look for her, to look for the sun. He couldn't stop seeking, and she couldn't stop being found, and the world turned as it always had and always would.

---

"Why is she there?"  I believe those were my first words when I saw this picture.  Why the hell is she there?  I mean, aside from the obvious reason that the photographer thought it would make an interesting composition.  There were probably sexy answers to that question; maybe she was trying to pick up hobos.  But I couldn't really think of a reason.

She's come to the railroad tracks at dawn, or thereabouts, because the light is good.  I understand that it could just as easily be sunset, since sunset usually connotes more golden hues and dawn more rose-colored ones, but dawn or sunset makes no difference; she's there because the sun is there.  Thus, the genesis of my little tale.

So, she's there for the sun.  But she's in a precarious position.  Someone should tell her to get her ass off the railroad tracks before she becomes the latest in a far-too-long line of train deaths.  But by removing her from the tracks, that person would be taking her away from the sun.  Then I thought of the myths I know, certain of which revolve around the sun, one of which is that the sun flees across the sky because it's being chased by wolves.  Is someone chasing her?  Is she the sun?

But then, let's also consider Persephone, who is pursued in a more gentle way, who is taken from light into darkness and then back into light again.  Our sun-worshiper's pursuer is benign; he doesn't realize that he's doing anything but saving her from being run over by a train.  But she'll come back, every morning, just as every morning he'll "rescue" her.

Just some random thoughts on the subject of myth.  I don't claim that my story is anything but two people who don't completely understand one another but make sacrifices to be together all the same.  He follows her, she allows herself to be found.  And it neatly avoids introducing hobo sex into things.

If, on the other hand, you would like to introduce hobo sex into things, the place to do that is definitely Flash Fiction Friday.  Who knows; there may be some hobo sex already there, so you'd be in good company.  Actually, I'm half-tempted to write another involving hobo sex now.  See what Flash Fiction Friday makes me do?