Rainy Trip

It was a rainy day. A depressing one, but it fit the rain so much that I didn't mind. I quickly hopped on the train not because I would have gotten wet, but I had to hurry up and find a seat. That was not the kind of train you would buy a ticket for and get a specific seat. You had to get the ticket and then pray you don't have to stand up for the entire trip. Just like any other train from any other civilized country, if I must say so.

Don't get me wrong, I usually strive to be a good person, so I wouldn't care that much about catching an open seat. Moreover, I would have given up my seat to anyone in need. That was not an ordinary day, though. My head was full of thoughts and I figured it wouldn't hurt to be a bit of an egoist at least once. Also, the rain that day was too calming and beautiful not to watch.

The train started running on the wet, shining trails spreading on the hills like veins. That would have been an ideal beginning of the story, right? Let me rephrase it. The train started shaking on one of the two rusty old trails going both in the same direction. I guess the truth does not sound so appealing. But I didn't care about it as long as it got me to my destination while I was watching the rain. More or less safe.

I tried to ignore the filth and the loud voices around while putting on my earphones, so I could finally immerse myself in watching the rainy scenery. I chose a slightly depressing playlist; basically the kind of music I usually listen to. That does not mean that you can always find me sitting in a corner, surrounded by a cloud of depression. I just enjoy music that means something to me, music that touches my soul one way or another. And this type of music speaks to me the most.

The raindrops were hitting the windows faster and faster, dripping a little then slowing down and stopping for a while, waiting for others to come and push them off. It was like a metaphor for humans' lives. They are born into this world, they rush to maturity, where they stagnate for a period of time and wait for the future generation to come as replacements, pushing them towards their end. The analogy stops here though. Some would associate the process of melting into thin air, becoming a part of a new cloud and falling down once again with reincarnation, but I don't believe in it. I don't think we have multiple chances, nor do I believe we deserve them. We are born, we live for an insignificant amount of time and we die, finding our place in the afterlife. Water has a life cycle, while we follow a linear trail.

That combination of rain, philosophy and depressing music made me fall asleep. I dreamt about people dancing in the rain. But it wasn't a normal rain. It seemed thick like paint, starting out red, which made me think at first that it was blood. Creepy, huh? But then it changed its colour to orange, yellow and continued marching through the rainbow's colours. It looked like someone started pouring buckets of paint on those people. But they didn't seem to mind. Actually they didn't seem to even notice. They were all different, dressed as ballet dancers, astronauts, doctors and so on. They were happy, showing big smiles on their faces, without interrupting each other's dance. It was like everyone was only aware of their own person. At times a man and a woman would meet and start dancing together. The outfits could have represented their dreams, particularly their dream careers, and the pairings seemed to signify romantic relationships. They kept dancing while the rainbow rain made them completely colourful, without interfering with their happiness. In fact it was like the colours made them radiate more and more joy. That was the kind of happiness I wouldn't even dare to wish for.

The colourful dream was soon to become a nightmare. The colours finished an iteration and just when I thought red drops will fall over them again, everything became black. The rain, their clothes, their mood. Their souls. They were all wearing plain black clothes and the couples broke apart and started wandering on their own. That wasn't a dance full of joy anymore, it was a funeral march.