(no subject)
No one knew who he was, or why he was sat on the platform, looking dejected, his shoes untied, arms bare in the cold weather.
Most people ignored him, walking past hurridly and not sparing so much as a second glance, rubbing their hands together and eyeing their watches, muttering about how many minutes the train was late. Yet he didn't move, not once, as the platform filled around him.
The train arrived, and still no one spared a look for the figure sat against the wall. Travellers departed, and more got on the humming vehicle, the doors closing and the whistle sounding, a hiss from the engines as the train slowly pulled away.
No one had come for him. None of the departing people had even so much as looked at him. It was as if he was invisible to them, part of the decoration, something to be ignored.
No more trains left from that platform that day. Close to closing time, the cleaners made their routinely rounds, heading up and down the platform, emptying trash, picking up rubbish from the floors. The poor man who found the child didn't see him until he nearly fell over him.
Shaking him gently, to wake him, the guard asked if he was ok, told him the station was closing. A cold chill swept through the station as the boys body slumped onto the platform floor, his eyes cold and unmoving. The boy was dead. Broken promises, a shadow against the wall, something to be ignored.
His heart had broke.
This wonderful piece of writing was created by
fidgetstitch on
prompt_a_day. Just wanted to share it because it was touching. Go tell her how great her writing is!