The Station

A station. Bustling with activity. People running from one train to another, seldom having time to stop or rest. Never seeing the people around them. All are headed towards their own destination. Home, work, vacation. Only a few of them don't know where they're headed, even fewer have no intention of traveling at all.

A woman with a crying little girl on one arm, dragging her luggage with the other, hurrying by. Her phone is ringing, but since she doesn't have the time to stop she can't answer it. It's nothing important, at least not his time. Her little girl drops her doll and cries even louder, but no one listens.

The doll remains where it is, until a man picks it up much later that night. The few travelers that are still there avert their eyes from him. His clothes are in rags, his face and hands are filthy. He is homeless. After sitting down on a bench he looks at the doll, past memories surfacing in his eyes. No one cares.

In the morning that same spot is occupied by an old gentleman. He's wearing a suit and polished leather shoes. A fragrant bouquet of red roses is laying beside him. Every now and then he looks up to check the big digital clock hanging from the ceiling. After a quick phone call he gets up and walks toward the sixth terminal. After ten minutes he comes back, accompanied by a young man and woman. She is now holding the flowers, and the gentleman's pulling her luggage. The old man and the young woman have the same green eyes. The old mans expression soon turns from proud to truly happy as she lays a hand on her stomach and tells him news that she never thought she could give.

A lone rose petal is stepped on by an oddly dressed young man. His face is mostly hidden behind his black fringe, and the little sliver of skin that is shown is covered with metal rings and bars. He wears nothing but black. A small backpack is casually hanging from his shoulder. The young man is in no hurry. He looks up at the departure board, carefully choosing his destination. On his way to the terminal he drops his wallet. A kind lady picks it up and hands it to him. There are no pictures in it. Nothing whatsoever to remind him of his past.

The old lady sits down on a bench, not far from where the homeless man and the old gentleman sat earlier. In her little bag she has a sandwich, which she eats while waiting for her train. She keeps an almost constant eye on the people that rushes by. At her old age it must seem amusing. She used to be like that once, when she was younger and had a lot to do. When a man asks her for directions, she kindly gives them. He's about to leave, when she tells him that he looks like her late husband. The man nods and then excuses himself. He does not have time to talk to an old lady, even if she is a kind one. Ten minutes later the old lady walks to her terminal, noting on the way that she has some cat fur stuck on her cardigan.

Every person that hurries past have a history, a present and a future. Seeing everyone around you is impossible, but noticing a few makes life far more interesting.