46
A
s the bleak sun's rays begin to diffuse the early morning
mist, the impurities in the once grand station start to peek
through. The tall, intricately patterned steel pillars that
surround the station, once painted a splendid mossy green, are
now peeling and flaking, a subtle mint shade.
The seven thirty mark chimes, bellowing across the station from
the clock installed so long ago, mosaic-type pieces covering its
face, whilst the hands twisted and worn appear like wrinkles,
impurities. As if like clockwork, the first set of early commuters
begin to trickle into the station; a piping hot Starbucks in one
hand with the daily newspaper in the other. Carefully balancing
their briefcase beneath their arm, they approach the timings
board, silently praying for no delays so they won't be late for that
one meeting which will make or break their deal.
Through the now building crowd of business people, and those
working night shifts starting what feels like the marathon-type
endurance journey home, a slight figure can be distinguished
cowering against the wall, his hair greasy and dirty, prematurely
greying at the roots from the stress of his uncomfortable lifestyle.
No-one bothers to ask him why he's there and not at home with
a family and lashings of friends and comfort he had hoped for
when he was young. No-one. Everyone just assumes, let it be
granted everyone assumes different things, but assuming still.
Although, all coming to the same silent, yet unified decision of
avoiding him, only the small children seem to query his
situation. To everyone else he is invisible, another piece of
chipped paint blotting the beauty of the place.
The dazzlingly bright industrial-style lighting blinds the eyes of
all those who dare to look them in the soul. These mechanisms,
towering high above the heads of those on the ground,
occasionally rock slightly against the huge power of the wind.
So strong are their rays, they highlight every single scrape or
piece of dirt along the station, supposedly helping the dutiful
cleaner as he gathers together yet another bag of litter. He
doesn't find it helpful. He views it as an inconvenience, no
matter how hard he tries, it will never look clean, a
disheartening fact he has to face every day as he begins his
chores.
As the distant echo of a train, rumbling its way into the station,
begins to bounce off the brickwork walls, everyone assembles in
an orderly fashion along the platform, preparing themselves for
the mad dash onto the train and the scramble to get to the table
seat first. At the gentle vibrations of the steel structure, the
birds that had been peacefully sleeping above the signs and
beams are rudely awoken. Scrambling up and taking flight as
quickly as possible, they take everyone beneath them off guard.
The train loudly groans to a halt and everyone clambers on; the
panic from the young family not to forget the favourite toy and
the loud arguing from the travellers from abroad identify the
commencing of yet another day at the train station. The same
as any other.
by Elena Close
The 5th form described
The Scene in a
Railway Station
Alia Hamaoui AS