Question: Do folks mind that I post this in the main body? I've been thinking about doing an LJ cut, but so many details change from top to bottom that I have not yet had the heart. I should keep the main body to a certain word limit, I have not yet decided what it is. Also, people are welcome to post comments, interjections, annoyances etc if they wish. I'm posting it in a more collaborative space because I value you guys :-). This project is in part inspired by Miracle in July (http://themiracleinjuly.com/) though I'm not half as sexy.

The air was crisp and cool, punctuated by the greasy sharp tang of diesel. The night air still held its shape, not yet dessicated by clamouring noon. The two of them stood near the tracks, awkward, almost leaving, but not quite yet.

“I was like you once,” Melani said. She laughed and blew smoke in Josie, Joey, Jo-girl, Jospehina, Jojo's face – some bush blend full of teatree to cleanse the air and lungs. “I'd be like you again if I could be that stupid.” The ground shuddered and the casurina trees nodded their heads as the heavy freight train roared down the hill towards them.

Mel patted Jo's arse as she left. “Savour it!” Mel shouted above the clangour. “You might as well.”

Mel hauled herself onto the last carriage with practiced ease; her lean arms always surprising in their strength. Jo imagined trying to follow, her arms wrenched out of their socket from the force, spraining her wrists and falling to the tracks. Dust blew in Jo's face, Mel's throaty laugh, rich with sixty five years of sass and spice coated the dusty wind and peppered Jo's tongue. Mel had sparkling green eyes, heavy powdered makeup and a face sun-scorched into dense wrinkles. She'd been a motorcycle stuntwoman with the travelling show and would still be doing it too if she'd had her way. Mel was part woman, part myth – she'd been a revolutionary, the centre of numerous scandals, love affairs, dumb-arse stunts and she had a habit of taking under her wing lost strays like Jo.

When Mel fell from the train onto the tracks, her head splitting open on the shining steel tracks, it wasn't just a fiesty old woman with attitude that died. With her died stories – rich, complex and varied. With her died a wealth of knowledge, ways, meaning, learning hard won that could never be duplicated. With her died a small centre of the world. Jo did not know Mel was dying from the sharp crack of skull against tracks. Jo's first response was to laugh, a sharp high retort at Mel – playing pranks again and not yet ready to leave. Jo's smile quickly died as she ran on to the tracks, choking on the harsh dust. Mel wasn't dead, not yet, but the back of her head was slippery and Jo felt pieces of skull shift as she pulled Mel up off the tracks. Later, Jo would pretend Mel died on the tracks, it had more dignity and was a simpler story to tell.