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F R I D A Y
Thomas is more than relieved to be getting off the train.
He, however, has no clue where to go next.
It's busier, here. This station is packed, with people scurrying left and right. He feels as if he's been washed up amongst a sea of faces, desperately trying to swim to shore, against a current much stronger than his will to live.
His eyes squint as he adjusts to his surroundings, suddenly noticing the expression on those faces.
They look . . . scared? Alarmed? Frantic, almost?
There are women with their snivelling children, men shouting and roaring desperately amongst the crowds for the next train. It seems as if everyone wants a one way ticket out of here, and it leaves an unsettling feeling pooling at the bottom of Thomas' stomach.
Nerves kicking in, he trudges forward, trying to listen in on any conversations that might explain the urgent atmosphere.
He gets nothing, and busies himself with hurrying out of there, holding his backpack tightly between his whitening knuckles. He doesn't like this. Something is wrong.
Even so, he keeps his head down and continues forward until he's at the swinging doors that lead him out of the hazy station, and into the breezy, fresh air that he breathes in deeply.
It clears his head, for a minute, and he tries to recollect his thoughts on where he's going next. What he's planning, next.
There's a small bench outside the station, accompanied by one old man, who stares into space as if his life depends on it. Thomas is hesitant, but chooses to carefully sit next to him, at the opposite end of the bench, watching the empty road before them.
The man doesn't greet him as he sits down, so neither say anything for a while. Thomas tries to think on how he'll get to the orphanage, but his mind has gone blank. He doesn't have any real money, and he's tired and helpless and a little bit afraid. Something is very, very off.
"Where are you off to, then?" He blurts finally, the silence loud — too loud.
The man doesn't respond, he simply just blinks. Thomas swallows thickly, but doesn't bother trying again, slightly embarrassed, slightly scared.
They sit in silence for another ten minutes, until the old man speaks up, voice hoarse and croaky as if it hadn't been in use for some time.
