The Metro Station
For five years I have been living in this area.
Seems like it was only yesterday when I first stepped into this metro station.
At 8 am every morning I would always take the train to work and I also used to
travel the same way when going to college. Memories of this metro station have
been very colourful, and a memory which involved a guy in a red jacket, in
particular, stood out like a sore thumb. I used to see him every morning since
4 years ago in that jacket every winter. Now I don’t see him anymore. There was
a vending machine that provided drinks to the commuters in summer to quench
their thirst in the summer heat. That was 3 years ago. Now that’s gone too.
Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, this was how life
went. Life has been so colourful till last year. I still remember the good
times - I went to college, met up my friends after class for some food, went
clubbing at the local night club on weekends. Getting drunk on a summer night
and going back home was fun. We have been having awesome weekends since 2 years
ago. Again and again, I just keep coming back to this station. I met my other
half on this particular day on this particular spot, on this particular bench,
not knowing that I would be sitting here alone today. I met him here. That was
5 years ago shortly after moving to this area. We went to the same college but
studied different courses, but even then we met up every day on weekdays in
between and after classes and went home on the same train. We even worked at
the same place after graduating. He told me I was beautiful. He gave me a ring,
one which I still wear today, keeping it close to my heart. It wasn’t very
expensive and only costs 50 bucks. He said that he would marry me one day. Yes,
that boy with slightly longish hair with the typical black t shirt he used to
wear. Soon after, he was conscripted to the army to serve in the Afghan war as
peacekeeping personnel. He told me he would be back. He Skyped with me during
his free time and Facebook was also a means of communication. He told me that
he would be back in 6 months. Alas, he stopped coming online. After two weeks,
my greatest fear was confirmed. The last I met him, he was wearing a military
uniform leaving this metro station. That sight of him in my mind, the memory, is
one of the only things I have left of him.
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| Photo taken from Ricky Thakrar's Flickr |
Today I sit here in this particular spot. Time
seems to stay still for a little longer. Tears coming from my eyes seem to make
everything look grey. It has been this way since about 2 years ago. The feeling
of nostalgia has never been stronger. The crowd has always been how they are,
but they seem invisible to me now. I still do get invited to go hang out with
my friends but it has never been the same. They never understood how I felt
anyway. All I remember was the colourful times of the past. I check my vital
signs to know I’m still alive but it feels like I am the only one in this world
I live in. That mask I put on has somehow helped me survive in working life and
my parents do not have a clue. However, they don’t seem to exist in my world.
What does the word direction mean? I just want to
go back to the past. It only takes 2 minutes for each train to pass yet it
feels 10 times longer. My pay checks get depleted faster every month. Expensive
stuff was once a novelty to me but now, it’s just like any other thing.
What is life anyway? Nothing is permanent,
everything comes and goes. Just like the trains that pass as I sit here
dreaming in my own world. My vital signs, I look at my hands and arms, those
would go too. Is my life worth living? Or is it easier to just cross over to
the next world and avoid all this pain?
Beep beep beep. What was that? Beep beep
beep… Beeping sound from where? I’m the only one hearing this. I wake
up. What the hell is that? I check my pulse on my neck again. Am I in
the real world? Everything seems so real. I pick up my phone and call him to
hear his voice. Yes, he is there on the other end. I haven’t even graduated
from college yet. The war in Afghanistan? That was more than a decade ago. I
look at the alarm clock, oh my God, its 11am already, it's time to go. And
here I am in the metro station back again. I think about my dream last night
and begin to doubt my existence at the moment. Of course I know I’m alive but
that dream has got me thinking. Maybe in the future I can actually laugh about
it, but not right now.
Zachary
This short story is about a girl who had a
dream about getting into depression. In her dream, her boyfriend died in the
war in Afghanistan which led to grieving. Unfortunately she wasn’t strong
enough and therefore grief became depression and she felt that she just wanted
to go back in time which is impossible and it got worse as she questioned her
own existence in the world. She finally woke up finding that everything was a
dream but it was so real that for awhile it got her thinking what would happen
if she was really depressed.
