Day 301

After the crash, the remains of the train were decommissioned.
Left to rot after they scraped the thirty three bodies out.
They couldn't get everyone, the fire had left them with charred and melted remains.
In the end they just gathered what they could and cremated the lot.
Of course they never told anyone this, imagine their shock if they knew.

For a few years people visited the train and left flowers, cards and other tokens of loss.
As humans do though, they began to forget.
One by one they stopped coming and their tokens were left to rot alongside the train.
Their lost ones could only watch from inside the wreckage as the last person left for good.
If only they could cry out please, we're still in here, we're still inside PLEASE!

But they couldn't, the dead can't speak you see.
At least, not without a living person to act as a mouthpiece.
They were the thirty three of platform twelve from York to London.
And they were still inside, looking out unseen at their rotting prison.
Even as the roof above them decays entirely, they remain inside.