100 WC Week 1 - A Fading Glory

Like the whistling screech of a kettle, her funnel discharged a piercing shriek before puffs of smoke bellowed out, creating dusty clouds in the glacial night sky. Her body was decrepit and decayed, the conscientiously painted red lacquer faded and scratched. The swirled, embossed gold writing was peeling pathetically and the letter ‘A’ hung limply from the side, shuddering from the power of the engine. Even night animals kept away when she passed their fields, the deafening thundering too much for their delicate senses. The tunnel! An onlooker might not believe she could squeeze through the dilapidated tunnel, but she did, as usual. And then the noise stopped.