Once I reached the edge of town I sat and waited for the freight train. Hunkered beside a rusted out caboose I noticed how dark and eerily quiet the night was. My senses alerted to a rustling noise through the grass. My head bolted towards it and my heart skipped a few beats before an alley cat ran across the tracks. Relaxing, I heard the train pulsing through the night. It would make its usual stop and then be on its way again; whatever the destination, I would be on it.
As the slowly purring train passed, I grabbed hold of a side rail, and wielding all my energy, threw myself onto it. I took a minute to catch my breath and make sure all my parts were still present and accounted for. A slight sting festered at my heart for leaving the only home I’d ever known. Gently through the night the train roared forward. I had found a place inside one of the cars with just enough room for me to curl up.
I don't think it's possible for creativity to be a negative thing.