The glint of bright blue paint as the sun reflected off the paint of the locomotive rumbling over the stone bridge, the clattering of coaches, and the gentle "Trickety-Trock Trickety-Tock" of wheels on rail joints, mingling in with the sounds of a diesel engine roaring created the ideal scene for anybody who was a rail enthusiast. It was picture perfect, and it seemed that nothing could go wrong..
But it did. The screech of brakes, and the blasting of an air horn filled the air as the train lurched and skidded along the tracks, before a loud sound, somewhere between a bang and a clatter erupted from nowhere as the engine ploughed off the bridge, and tumbled downwards into the river below, coaches telescoping behind it and crushing one another, if they didn't end up in the water, or on the bank edge.
CRASH! Drip. Drip. Drip. The acrid smell of burning fuel filled the air, along with the thick, choking black smoke arising from the mangled, torn up locomotive, resting with her front bogie in the river bank, bricks and rubbles showering down on the thick, metal casing of the rail bound stallion.
Drip…Drip…WOOSH! The diesel fuel ignited with a loud whoosh and a hiss, cracking away, spitting embers into the air. “Help! HELP!” A scream came from within the second coach, the only noise in that carriage. The rest of the occupants, deathly silent. “Please! PLEASE!” The flames drew closer by the second, and the smoke started to enter his lungs. Swallowing, he pulls himself free from his trap, a crack sounding out. Tumbling from the door, he landed hard on his back, a weak, feeble “No…” escaping his lips as he blacked out, spinal cord broken, legs unable to be felt..
So, I figured the main focus of the plot could be around two survivors of the same age helping each other through the recovery process and adapting to life afterwards with the changes they are facing and having to adapt to.
But it did. The screech of brakes, and the blasting of an air horn filled the air as the train lurched and skidded along the tracks, before a loud sound, somewhere between a bang and a clatter erupted from nowhere as the engine ploughed off the bridge, and tumbled downwards into the river below, coaches telescoping behind it and crushing one another, if they didn't end up in the water, or on the bank edge.
CRASH! Drip. Drip. Drip. The acrid smell of burning fuel filled the air, along with the thick, choking black smoke arising from the mangled, torn up locomotive, resting with her front bogie in the river bank, bricks and rubbles showering down on the thick, metal casing of the rail bound stallion.
Drip…Drip…WOOSH! The diesel fuel ignited with a loud whoosh and a hiss, cracking away, spitting embers into the air. “Help! HELP!” A scream came from within the second coach, the only noise in that carriage. The rest of the occupants, deathly silent. “Please! PLEASE!” The flames drew closer by the second, and the smoke started to enter his lungs. Swallowing, he pulls himself free from his trap, a crack sounding out. Tumbling from the door, he landed hard on his back, a weak, feeble “No…” escaping his lips as he blacked out, spinal cord broken, legs unable to be felt..
So, I figured the main focus of the plot could be around two survivors of the same age helping each other through the recovery process and adapting to life afterwards with the changes they are facing and having to adapt to.
