Trains were my pass time as a child. I would sit on the Victoria Line, Underground in London; the capital of economy, fashion and the broken British Empire. It was time in the day where i could observe the people around me in peace and learn their stories, my favourite was of a man who was quite depressed when i first saw him. The businessman would come and sit next to me everyday and stare straight ahead at the opposite seat which, miraculously stayed empty the whole ride and would only be filled after the stop at Blackhorse Road, the second last stop before it would end at Walthamstow Central and then ricochet off on back the other way towards Brixton. The man would get off there and give a quick nod of his head to me then slowly descend to the gum spotted pavement and leave. It was only after 4 years of this that i realised that he wasn't looking at the seat. Through the window along that path was a beggar, she was beautiful and i realised he had given his heart to her. She was not permitted to go to Walthamstow Central and beg due to the fact that the businessman's father was the owner of it and had forbidden anything to become of the romance. The only way to see each other was riding the train. One day i passed a florist on my way to Brixton, i grabbed the only blood red rose from the lady and took it on my way. I sat down in my usual seat and placed the blossom on my lap. When i got to Euston the man seated himself on the right hand side of me as usual and waited. I waited, when we got to Finsbury Park i handed him the rose without looking at him. He slowly squeezed my hand and got out of the carriage. I never got to see her reaction as the tube speed on, however he never rode the train again and she was never there either. It was moments like these that my life was complete, but my life was actually falling apart around me without me even knowing.
© Copyright by Charlee Kieser 2014
