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This is a short story I wrote a few years back, when I was in a writers' group. It's part of a short series that I wrote about the character, each being a different 'homework' exercise that was set for the few meetings I went to...


A new day dawned. It dawned bright and cheerful, and there was hardly a cloud to be seen in the clear, fresh air. Ellie yawned as she took her beg out of her locker, and swung the small metal ‘door’ back, with a ‘clang’ - and then a click as she locked it.

Dawn always seemed so depressing when seen from the wrong side. Back home, back to bed. This was the last time she covered for Peter - he could find some other gullible person to work his shift while he went out clubbing; or whatever it was he did while he pretended he was at home with his sick mother.

The roads were empty at this time of the morning, and so she arrived back home quicker then usual.

A pleasant surprise, for once.

Ohh, home. Home was the attic apartment in a musty house that should have faced the chop fifty years ago. The landlady quite possibly should have gone with it. Although, admittedly, in a rather ironic way, she was just perfect for the house, and its decidedly shabby garden at the back.

Ellie grinned a wry grin as she recalled when she had first moved in.

"And this will be your room up here," croaked the landlady in a voice which trembled so much that Ellie feared her throat would be lacerated on the inside with the effort of talking.

"Now, I don’t want any major construction work going on up here - if you move out, I should like not to have to redecorate." Here she laughed conspiratorially. "And I won’t have any menfolk visiting at strange hours, and I’m afraid I don’t allow pets or parties. All damages must be paid for, and rent is to be paid promptly, or I’m afraid I will have to terminate your lease."

The room was full of dusty furniture partly covered by dust sheets, and all looking at least thirty years old.
"What is it you do exactly?" asked the landlady in the same quavering voice.

Ah yes, Ellie’s profession. Hardly what Mrs. Rimmel-Meier had thought of as a suitable profession for a lady.

"I’m a train driver."

The loose door handle rattled as she tugged at it to open the door. At some point she would have to get that fixed. On the inside of the door was a train timetable, sellotaped to the wood, since blu-tack left a mark. Much of the rest of the apartment was in a similar vein. Dotted here and there were the odd things that had never been claimed from lost property, such as scarves and umbrellas, and somewhat surprisingly, the odd pair of shoes.

What a Saturday night.

"Never again!" thought Ellie as she wearily took off her uniform and draped it over her chair. Bed just couldn't come soon enough.
She drifted off to sleep, wondering why she didn't just get another job, one which didn't involve graveyard shifts, and sitting in the same environment day after day.

Her dreams that morning were filled with trains upon trains, crowding in upon her, and asking her why she was leaving them.

"But I'm not leaving..." she muttered, and then rolled over and out of bed, landing with a bump on the cold wooden floor, which jerked her awake.

As if to compound matters, there was a sharp knocking on the door. Evidently the landlady disliked loud bumps as much as she disliked everything else about Ellie. She had never forgiven her her profession.

"Well," thought Ellie, going to answer it, "Here we go again."

Thanks, I'll admit to being quite fond of the stories that I wrote about this character, though they were all about this long (and normally I write much longer).

Each had a limitation or concept that had to be in it, since they were writing exercises I guess, this one being the character's career. We'd all written down a job and then they'd been moved along one piece, so I ended up having to write about a train driver. I didn't want her to be overly glamorous, hence she's covering the night shift for 'Peter', who I then couldn't resist slipping into later exercises.