The blog's been on hold... But in the last few weeks I've been working on putting together a little story. Here's the first-ish chapter, any feedback would be greatly appreciated!
The mammoth 22:38 train shrieked to a halt, and gave a relieving hiss as the carriages opened onto the central station. Weary faces, now impatiently crammed in the narrow corridors before him, showed new signs of life as they scanned the platform in search of those awaiting them, and as they unloaded – one by one – they hustled off into the horde of vibrant expectance.
He observed through the condensation as loved ones embraced, before dispersing in whirls of joyous smoke. Last of the rabble, he was gently told to hurry up by the all-helpful provodnitsa*, and as he carefully clanged down the train's steel stairs, the once bustling combustion of life and love was beginning to evaporate into a lingering mist.
They had arranged to meet here; his hasty message notifying them of his departure around 50 hours ago. Their receipt was an assumption, and its confirmation impossible with his foreign devices failing to operate in this new land. He glanced from left to right, at decreasing intervals, but nobody appeared as though they were looking for anybody. The only body aware of his arrival was his provodnitsa. Her eyes, surrounded by a stern and aged shell, worriedly and curiously watched over him, and as the train doors crashed closed; a distant whistle wailed, and he knew from then on – there he remained alone.
The platform on which he stood, a wide bed of dusty concrete, stretched into darkness on either horizon. In ages past, it would have undoubtedly harboured and embarked populations of passengers, but now, on the verge of a starless midnight, was only host to a litter of used plastic and aluminium, gracefully buttering around the boarded kiosks.
Behind him, the 22:38 to Moscow was gathering momentum; carriage upon carriage rhythmically clattering past. He turned towards the weary faces gazing through the windows, and for a moment wished he was still with them; tucked up in his warm platzkart bed, safe under the auspices of the trains predictable tracks. Low on money, disconnected and apparently without a job, it seemed a far safer route than the darkness and the unknown laid before him.
Originating seemingly from nowhere, the last of the crowd - an old hunchbacked babushka – waddled past him towards the stairway; somehow managing to trawl piles of luggage behind her. Snapping out of his delirium, he instinctively asked if she needed help. She continued trotting past, unaware or unwanting of his request. Having probably never encountered a foreigner before, an ingrained force within was commanding her to ignore the stupid, pestering foreigner. But after a second attempt, and a tap on the shoulder which shuddered throughout her body, submission eloped from her weak and ailing mind, and her head slowly turned upwards, revealing pinhole eyes devoid of colour. She vacantly focused up towards him.
Robert pointed at her bags, and muttered something resembling the local language. With a reluctant smile, she crokeadly whispered “спасиво” (spasibo: thank you); allowing the lost and weary foreigner to lead her up into his vast new world. Warming to the assistance, and allowing curiosity to ignite from within her, she helplessly initiated conversation, at a speed to which Robert could not comprehend. All he could do was nod, squint his eyes and smile in return. Unknown to him, she had arrived from her son's new home in a distant city, and was returning to the place she had occupied her entire life. A widow to alcohol; lonely, it seemed her only reason now was to exist.
As they reached the final step towards the station's main hall, the old babushka hobbled off into the sea of Russian, leaving Robert to wade around the lobby in a useless search for somebody whom he had no idea who. After a few moments of aimlessly exploring the station's grand embezzled halls, he realised all was in vain, and the faint beacon of hope which once shone, had faded into a siren of warning.
Unsure of how to react, he retreated into one of the numerous rows of seats; his single bag clutched between his thighs. And if it weren't for the metal armrests barricading him on either side, he could've quite easily slumped over and slept the night away. Though nonetheless, slouched; resting on his arm, and thumb caressing his chin, his body began to recuperate. A far cry from his thoughts; jumping from wall to wall, floor to ceiling and colliding at interstellar pace, leaving nothing to rationality. Not once did he consider that those he were expecting could be late, or his train could have been early, and instead assumed the worst. Ill feelings began to creep from underneath the chairs around him; their tentacles slithering around his legs and protruding to his soul. The once subtle hum of the passing passengers flared into a snide, aggressive beast; petrifying him with hostile stares, and hissing at him in undetectable alien tongues. The only information he could decode appeared to be his name, nationality and reason for being here. None of which he wished anybody would know.
“The sickness and travelling sure has taken its toll” he eventually realised; snapping out of his semi-slumber and becoming aware of his current state. Not only had the journey taken in excess of two days, but he made the foolish decision of purchasing meat, from a trader at one of the stations, for lunch; confining him to the carriage's unsanitary toilet and the provodnica's cabin – where she duly looked after him and acquired medicine - for the latter half of the journey. Even though cooler now, the preceding days had been some one of the hottest recorded in recent years, and blinded by hunger, he failed to think how even a few hours in such blistering heat would turn the freshest meat rotten.
Relaxed, and regaining an essence of his adventurer's spirit, prompted from a deep and lengthy rumble from his stomach, Robert stood and doggedly tossed his bag over his shoulder. He concluded that business could wait until morning, and the most important deeds for now were to sleep, eat, and find the nearest bar – in reverse order - so that tomorrow, he could set out to accomplish what he came here to find.
