Model S, by Justin Wall

My father used to adore his model railway. I often found him admiring the latest addition to his modest collection. That was, until he lost his job.

This once harmless hobby quickly became an obsession; parcels were being delivered to our house at an alarming rate. Our once proud patriarch soon devoted all his time to this unhealthy interest.

Last Sunday, I discovered his lifeless body slumped in a corner of our garage. Losing a parent is traumatic enough, let alone finding one with a passenger carriage rammed down his throat and the words ‘choo choo’ written on their forehead.