Things That May Come To Pass

It looked like it was abandoned, worn to the point that it didn’t seem as though it had been used in years. And perhaps the tracks hadn’t been used for year at that point, but years from now the tell-tale orange signs of constructions planned may morph into new ground. Trains may run past the blockade, beyond the water, continuing into the city that for now lies forever on the horizon. The worn out, scuffed walls that to the right person may tell an entire story, but then again they may not, may be broken down and reformed into something sleek, shiny, and new with a new history written over the erased chapters of another life. The water may dry up, or be redirected to the train, whipping around it like long hair in the wind, pushing the train forward as it surges forward to its destination.
But then again it may not.
Perhaps the ground around the tracks will continue to crack. Perhaps the memories on the walls will be allowed to fade away, slowly forgotten. Perhaps the 26 protestors that always flock around the city hall, begging for the water to be restored will get their way, with the water continuing to stay the same until 25 are gone and the last one realizes that they no longer care.
There are no people now at the tracks. But the memories came to the wall somehow, the orange did not rise out of the air, and the protestors go about their lives in our peripheral vision. There are no people now, but there may be one day.
But then again, there might not.

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