In a train
6:40, It rained... of all the days! Yesterday we watered the garden.
From far distance, if I listen very carefully, the low sound of a train echoes through the town. So low that it sounds almost like a vibration that could rattle window panes.
My thought drifts to the mornings when I went to my office, packed in that train. The smell of people. Weird quietness governing inside the car. Wasn't it like the silence of people who are destined for somewhere they do not know? They were moving on the track. There was only narrow space given to them to move in the car, limited by the other people. Without complaint, any words, they were carried to their destinations. Everyday. Rain or shine. But where to? Like a cow led to a slaughterhouse, they were unaware of the real fate, but somewhere in themselves something kept trying to tell them with never reaching whisper. Danger, danger, danger!...
Did I get off the train? Or still on it?
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