Station

VII

Darren's hand opened and closed repeatedly as he stared at it longingly.

Ms Wendy was burned into his mind and each time he closed his eyes, he saw her. The image was so persistent that it even put the clock's ticking in the background.

Darren couldn't help but make a mental note of Ms Wendy, saving the image of her in his mind like it was a diskette. She was an important puzzle piece to him, even though he had barely known her for a day, although even the word 'known' may had been too much of an overstatement. Even though he had no idea what the puzzle was and for what reason he was trying to solve it. Maybe it was the smarter option to just walk away, leave the station behind him and never look back, but Darren was left wondering if he would even be able to do that.

The clock was growing silent as he stared it down while lost in his own mind, as if it was afraid to interfere with the deep sullenness Darren suddenly felt. For a moment, it even seemed like the ticking had disappeared entirely, but as soon as the thought had crossed Darren's mind, it was back twice as strong.

In his head, he half-heartedly began rationalising the things he had seen, but there was no doubt that this girl was a patron of the station, even though she hadn't entered a train.

He sighed. The station was slowly driving him insane, with every day he spent there. Yet, even when he wasn't there, it stayed on his mind, followed him everywhere. He wouldn't be able to ever let it go; deep down, he knew that.

Darren watched more passengers come and go. Normally, it always managed to calm him down when he saw the business of the station, but today was different somehow. His eyes trailed those lost souls that seemed so very different from each other yet all were headed to the same destination. It was like watching history pass by in mere minutes. The old times walking right next to the modern ones.

The spectacle was almost irritating to watch by now. How many years exactly had he spent like this? Being used to this wasn't normal, was it?

Darren rubbed a hand over his tired face that seemed even older than he himself, as if he was wearing a mask.

Unlike the other times he had observed the patrons of the station, he was now growing sick of the quiet hustle and bustle. The people that didn't see him and just went on about their day as if Darren didn't exist made him feel insecure all of a sudden.

Slowly, he got up from his seat and pushed his way through the crowd effortlessly, as it was barely more than a breeze to him.

He either didn't notice, or didn't care about the people that fell to the ground because of him, leaving them to wonder who or what exactly they had run against.

Darren left. The clicking and ticking followed him like a duckling that had imprinted on him.

He knew where his steps where leading him. Ms Casablanca. The only person he'd seen twice since he had first entered the station. The first person he had talked to since forever. A constant that was consistent in staying rather than disappearing.

"Oh! It's you?", Ms Casablanca greeted him, her clothes a bit more colourful today than they had been the last two times. She was wearing a light blue shirt and matching shoes.

Darren nodded as he watched her stuff a trash bag into the container.

"You don't talk much, do you?", she stated coolly, as if she had any reason to be. Darren once again could only nod in agreement.

"The offer from last time still stands, if you're up for it?", she offered once more. No answer, Darren was lost in the way her lips moved as she talked, caught up in his own admiration for her.

"I guess not", she grinned half-heartedly after waiting a minute or two for an answer. She seemed a lot friendlier than Darren had thought at first.

Ms Casablanca didn't say another word before she disappeared into the store once more. Darren was glad for that, he didn't want to say goodbye. This was not the end of it.