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Train of Thoughts- A Vent
As humans, we crave control.
Control over our lives, down to the pettiest of things... such as control over what speed the ceiling fan should be set at, or how many cups of water should be put in instant noodles.
I find it amusing, though, that humans are unable to control their thoughts. They're too fleeting to grasp, too messy to enslave. And there are so many thoughts just buzzing all day, thoughts about so many things... Sometimes about wild scenarios involving ghosts and superpowers. Sometimes about video games and television shows.
Sometimes about death.
But it's fine, cause they're just thoughts, right?
They're supposed to be.
Today I went and visited the train station. I do it every now and then, cause there's a small bookstore there, where the books are pretty cheap. I also have a habit of just standing there, on the platform, sipping the awful tea of the prestigious Indian Railways while reading whatever book I bought.
Today, that announcement played. The almost robotic voice of, "Platform kramaank something, something..." Hindi was never my best language. But I did gather that there'd be a fast moving train speeding by and that everyone was instructed to stay away from the platform.
And for some reason, I just thought... What would it be like if I were hit by a train?
Would it be painful? Maybe. It would certainly make it to the local news. "Random idiot dies by throwing themselves at a train". That'd be funny.
Wouldn't red look ravishing, splattered on steel?
All of a sudden, I felt tired. But also... entranced. Like a moth is drawn to a flame, or like that feeling you get when standing on the edge of a great height, and your mind goes, "Jump!"
"A fast moving train will be speeding by..." Without realising it, I was taking slow steps, ".... Platform number One." Inching closer like Icarus to the sun, "Kindly keep your distance from the platform for your own safety."
That's when a hand pulled at me, and in a few fleeting seconds, the blur of the train whizzed past, with its blaring horn, sending my newly bought book fluttering away.
"Careful, doll." A man said, and let go, "Have you gone mad?"
Perhaps I have.
Why am I so weak?
Oh, just in case you were wondering, the book I bought is called, "Palace of Illusions". It's a nice read.
© Hyde
Control over our lives, down to the pettiest of things... such as control over what speed the ceiling fan should be set at, or how many cups of water should be put in instant noodles.
I find it amusing, though, that humans are unable to control their thoughts. They're too fleeting to grasp, too messy to enslave. And there are so many thoughts just buzzing all day, thoughts about so many things... Sometimes about wild scenarios involving ghosts and superpowers. Sometimes about video games and television shows.
Sometimes about death.
But it's fine, cause they're just thoughts, right?
They're supposed to be.
Today I went and visited the train station. I do it every now and then, cause there's a small bookstore there, where the books are pretty cheap. I also have a habit of just standing there, on the platform, sipping the awful tea of the prestigious Indian Railways while reading whatever book I bought.
Today, that announcement played. The almost robotic voice of, "Platform kramaank something, something..." Hindi was never my best language. But I did gather that there'd be a fast moving train speeding by and that everyone was instructed to stay away from the platform.
And for some reason, I just thought... What would it be like if I were hit by a train?
Would it be painful? Maybe. It would certainly make it to the local news. "Random idiot dies by throwing themselves at a train". That'd be funny.
Wouldn't red look ravishing, splattered on steel?
All of a sudden, I felt tired. But also... entranced. Like a moth is drawn to a flame, or like that feeling you get when standing on the edge of a great height, and your mind goes, "Jump!"
"A fast moving train will be speeding by..." Without realising it, I was taking slow steps, ".... Platform number One." Inching closer like Icarus to the sun, "Kindly keep your distance from the platform for your own safety."
That's when a hand pulled at me, and in a few fleeting seconds, the blur of the train whizzed past, with its blaring horn, sending my newly bought book fluttering away.
"Careful, doll." A man said, and let go, "Have you gone mad?"
Perhaps I have.
Why am I so weak?
Oh, just in case you were wondering, the book I bought is called, "Palace of Illusions". It's a nice read.
© Hyde
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