The Train Arrives
It was almost dusk when I reached the station to get my train on time. I am Robin Patel, Marketing Manager of Mason Sales and Corp, a proud man specially for never being late for any occasion. I have been involved in the marketing business for over six years, and have developed a habit of traveling.
Earlier I enjoyed much visiting new places, cities, countries, meeting new people, but now I’ve become accustomed to it. A sad information was waiting for me at the station, the train was 15 minutes late and I was 10 minutes earlier for it, so it was going to be a hard time doing nothing, my profession has seized my patience, so sitting idle for half an hour was like being on a hospital bed for me. So I decided to get some of my official work done and opened up my briefcase. This saved me from the pain of idleness or I may say Pain of wasting any Time.
At the arrival of the train when I was going to get my seat, an old man selling books caught my attention. In less than a second, I completely decided what I was going to do in this traveling time and the next moment I was in search for a book. Finding such aged man selling books in a railway station was very odd. As far as I could recall from my childhood, the man looked just like the old uncle who used to live nearby our soccer ground and I could never dare to get the ball back after it put that old man’s window glass panes into pieces. The bookseller was wearing shabby clothes with a torn off hat with intolerable smell from his body. So turning my attention to his books, I found a strange diary. ”What was a personal diary doing in between those books? “I thought for asking more about it but the insolence of the man stopped me. Just like a mechanised calculator the man shouted the price. I couldn’t think to bargain and got it.
And my pride still remains, I took my seat on time. I’ve never missed any occasion though I’m a little silly and waste time in doing even little things, my planning must be the thing behind this. However I did little too much this time. Choosing a book before 30 seconds of my train arrival was really a stupid stunt, but I was glad to get no last minute hurry or what may be said… last second hurry.
A journey in a railway train makes me a little maudlin. If I enter the compartment in a stout minded, cheerful youth fresh and whistling just like that from a walk by the sea, yet as soon as I’m established down in one corner and the train is rattling past fields, towns, and painted stations, I find myself coddling in a sweet sadness. I pull along my face and look out of the window thoughtfully and look sad. But I’m really happy and exceedingly sentimental. The result get produced may be by the changing panaromic view as I see myself being dashed forward, I become subconscious of the flight of time, of the perpetual flux, of the trajectory of my own life.
Getting my mind away from those philosophical thoughts, I looked for my newly bought old diary. Turning through the pages, I understood that I have made a great a mistake by choosing a book by its cover.
The diary didn’t included a person’s life events which could have entertained me throughout the journey. Running through the beginning lines I concluded that it was a notebook of some local detective who must be investigating on a series of murders with all information about date and time and places where the dead bodies were found but the unbelievable fact was his reasoning to be supernatural reasons.
As I was thinking about my wasted money, I thought for having a quick nap, but sleep had travelled a million miles from me. Something urged me to read the diary. After further 10 minutes, I lost the battle with that something and got up to read the diary.