Stan proposed to his posse of six eight-year-olds that we cross a long, wooden railroad bridge over a swollen river. He assured us we had a one-hour window. One-third of the way across, we heard a train whistle from behind. We hurried to a small emergency platform for railroad workers, just big enough for us to squeeze in. As an endless freight train rumbled by, inches from our faces, the platform jumped like a wild bronco, trying to throw us into the muddy torrent below. After the train passed, we walked back home with wet pants and wild, wind-blown hair.
K.G. Song resides in Los Angeles, California with his wife and a parrot. His favorite hobby is crafting stories from his life experiences and imagination.