The Station

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The Station

    The fading sun flared through canopy of the frozen vegetation, reflecting off the tiny white crystals that were embedded on the metallic track. Glancing at clear odourless sky, I noticed a speck, high, flying above, which at the next moment had disappeared into a swollen hazy cloud. I didn’t know what it was.  As I paced across the stone floor next to a dilapidated wall , I glanced at the blazing yellow line, which discharged an ominous aura; then I realised that beyond the line, on the other platform, a lamp post was flickering, on and off, like some possessed being beyond all human intellect.

    The wind picked up. Along with the wind came a concoction of powdered snow with the addition of fragmented leaves. Because of the war being conducted outside I decided to retreat indoors to wait for my train. I sauntered into the room in a vigilant fashion, but inconspicuously. It was warm in the newly refurbished longue, which contradicted the external part of the building. The walls had an even covering of brown paint that glistened under neatly installed lights. There were leather seats, but all were taken. This made wonder, “Had I travelled through a portal?”

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     I examined the room discreetly, and focused on a strange figure, sitting in an eccentric manner. He wore glasses that seemed to conceal his eyes, but there was a cold piercing radiance that came from the inside of slender rimmed spectacles. Above his glasses hovered a brown antique crinkled hat with a matt ribbon constricting it. He was draped around with a heavy overcoat with a thin fur lining at the boundaries. His skin was both ruff and velvety smooth. His hands were laid softly on his lap, enclosed a pair of white leather gloves. I felt uneasy ...

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