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Night at the railway station
I got down from the night train and as I was going to cross the station gate, I could smell the soft cool breeze and its pokey chilled air stabbing my face. It started to rain slowly. The rain tasted sour and it removed my tongue’s color when it touched my tongue. It was a moonless night. Not a tinge of light fell on the ground.
Mist swiveled over each and every tiny little space. There wasn’t a single soul. The station was dead and lifeless.
I was getting to feel slightly nervous. My stomach became a house for the butterflies. It had become too late that the moon herself had taken a day off and had dozed off to sleep. The tall oak trees swayed wildly and there wasn’t the light of a firefly for around a mile.
The station master’s room was deserted. I was reminded of Napoleon Bonaparte when his enemies fooled him by deserting the place he had attacked. But, I was no Napoleon, just another human wanting to rest in a cozy home by the fireplace. I could hear nothing but the sound of the crisp leaves getting crushed on account of my footsteps. I just found a suitable place in the station, a stony corner having a faint smell of cigars and ‘bidis’. Time rolled on. I did not know how long I had waited when I heard voices.
People were speaking in a hushed rough tone. I knew by their crooked voices that the rouges were smugglers. When they knew that another soul apart from them was present, they pointed their daggers at me. I ran faster than the cheetah like I would win twenty gold medals in the Olympics. My heart was throbbing. My fashionable heeled slippers betrayed me and I fell down with a thud.
“Cut! Cut!” thundered my film director’s voice.
“How many times have I told you not to wear those slippers of yours?” “Remember the difficulty we had in catching these trained professionals to act as smugglers? They are scheduled to spend only an hour with us and already half an hour has been wasted because of this scene.”
“Come on! Come on! We can make it. Put on your Hawaii chappals.