the story takes you to a train journey and the events and reactions that unfold in that journey through the antagonist view, or to say as our own self-portrait.
Running Late
Ruins of the reminiscent rain were still dripping over the rusted parallel rods in the windowpane. A set of eyes brushed up in dark mascara were piercing through the obstructed view.
Metals pushed each other, reverberating a bawl amidst the unbothered rush hour, hovering over the broken pavements. Slowly, the train had started moving away from the platform, echoing to its destiny once again at the hour of rush.
A pair of legs wrapped up in a tight black jean had set its path down the stairs alighting onto the platform. They skipped the last two steps before splashing through the puddle that was formed in the rain, the same rain that had wet the windowpane his eyes were searching for as he ran.
He paused halfway, the train was still moving, and started counting the bogies from the engine. “nine, ten, ...eleven...” he gasped a bit as the eleventh bogie had passed his wet form.
The moving embodiment of mass transportation might have hit a corner. Suddenly, the wheels screeched a longer cry and all the compartments slowed down a bit, still not halting.
He didn’t waste any more time and started sprinting towards the door he had his eyes locked upon. With each second passing, his heavy footsteps matched the train's rhythmic rattle. As he was almost running out of parallel-ground, he pulled himself into the door, throwing his weight at another passenger inside the train. The passenger was a middle-aged man.
The middle-aged man was agitated and he asked whether the boy had any mental problems. He added why he needed to board so urgently and why he couldn’t wait for the next train. He ended his remarks with an adjective for the boy, Irresponsible.
The boy just held his head down wiping off the wet beads in his ragged beard. The elder of the two passed a look of disgust while murmuring something under his breath as he walked away in search of a place to rest. The boy just followed him into the compartment, head still held low.
The elder of the two settled in a one-seater near the window. The young lad moved onto the aisle, his eyes searching for something new. The ever-in-pursuit brownish eyes finally rested on a girl, staring at the moving world outside.
She was at the window seat, droplets of water still hanging here and there, to the other side at the three-seater where the middle-age man had settled. The boy sighed. He moved on placing himself opposite to the girl at the adjacent window seat and informed her of his arrival. The girl smiled, still staring into the distance. The train had made the curve and was picking up speed.
The middle-aged man rested his eyes on the young people to his right side, at regular intervals. “How typical?” He thought. “All of that stunt for that girl. What have these young people grown into?” His thoughts took another train altogether. The grownup smirked at the thought in his mind with a puff of air escaping his mouth accidentally.
He looked around first, to see if anyone noticed, and as he was assured no one cared for his incredible remarks, he turned his gaze into the rail track that raced with them, or to the walls that moved with them. He stared at the wilderness. Even so, his mind wandered off to the young people, the boy, and the girl, for reasons he didn’t understand.
Over the hour of travel, the crowd buzzed more and more into the compartment. The elder man at the one-seater peeked at the boy, still smiling and talking vaguely at the girl as a round-bellied man who had hindered his vision earlier finally alighted when the train halted for the fifth time that day.
He had heard them laugh, saw them patting each other while talking vibrantly. He would tuck in the shirt around his waist that escaped the hold of his black leather belt whenever he wanted a closer look of the two. As he twisted and twirled in his seat, back to his resting posture, he would curse the younger ones for behaving as such.
Throughout the journey, the man had thought how inappropriate it was for the young people to fall in love at such a tender age. Moreover, how wrong it was to express their feelings in a public place. “My son or my daughter would not behave like this” He assured himself and raised his chin proudly, smirking once again at the young couple.
The middle-aged man noticed that the girl was still staring outside the window and had rarely glanced over the boy. The train started to pull its brakes, it was time for him to get off the moving embodiment.
It was then his eyes caught the girl searching for her bag. They were going to alight at the same station as he would. Without sparing his time on the youngsters, he immediately hurried off to the door. A small queue had formed near the door, pushing each other like a flock of sheep ready to graze another day.
The elder man glanced a look behind his neck to check whether the young couple was there too. He couldn’t find them and he didn’t mind too.
Everyone paced out of the door, a foot at a time after the train halted and some even before the movement stopped using inertia. The middle-aged man jumped off and slowly walked towards the exit as he tightened the straps of his bluish-green backpack.
After a few steps, he waited and turned back. He wanted to say a few words to the young boy. He thought. A few seconds later, the boy alighted the steps at the door. Instead of the girl to have followed him, as the elder man had thought, a long white stick tapped its way in between the young couples.
The girl was taking her steps carefully listening to her male acquaintance's instructions with everyone around standing still and silent. She was still staring into the openness. She was just staring.
Something heavy fell upon the chest of that man. Something tightened the grip in his cardiac muscles. He stared at the blind girl from a distance. He understood why the boy had rushed, why they were together throughout, and why the girl was staring at the wilderness always.
He started to realize his mistake. He bent down his head, turned around, and walked into the rush hour, yet again. He disappeared into the crowd, as one amongst the crowd, like the crowd.
The End.
Pwoli saanam
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