Somewhere South of Swanley, fiction by Ed McConnell at
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Somewhere South of Swanley

Somewhere South of Swanley

written by: Ed McConnell



Rattling like nails in a jar the train judders out of London at 3.32pm on a January Monday.

Grubby green embankments and graffitied concrete shoot past. Now fields with great puddles lingering large as lakes.

The sky’s too blue through the carriage window tint. The colour doesn’t belong to what’s below.

The train accelerates and the sun’s last rays bounce through a copse, its stripped black trunks like cage bars. And now I see it. Alone in a wood somewhere south of Swanley. Toy-size from this distance. Fleetingly but undoubtedly. A zebra.

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