Post by Kamish on Sept 6, 2008 2:19:09 GMT -5
God bless the child who suffers
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
God bless the young without mothers
A little boy sat at a train station. He waited in silence, the balls of his little feet resting on the oddly pristine platform and his disinterested brown eyes observing the clock – or sometimes, the empty platform opposite him.
He was waiting for the train. The train came at the same time – eleven o’clock – and every time it came, he watched it stop, wait, and go again. He watched the wide eyes and distorted faces of children look back at him from train windows, some with noses squashed against the glass and some with their stubby little hands pressed flush to it.
The doors never opened for him, so he didn’t move from his spot. He remained unchanging, a pale blanket folded carefully in his lap and eyes ever watching the clock, waiting for the hand to slide oh-so-slowly over to the intricate eleven once more.
He’d seen the train pass many times – he didn’t bother to count – and seen the children look back at him. They changed from time to time, there was still a few faces he vaguely recognised though, faces he’d seen watching him from the beginning. Or as far back as he remembered.
This child is homeless
There was a little boy with sad eyes. He wore a dark shirt and bit his lip a lot.
That child's on crack
A little girl who stood on the seat and giggled at him, waving enthusiastically as the train started moving off again. She seemed nice.
One plays with a gun
While the other takes a bullet in his back
There was a pair of boys who played cards, blonde hair bound away from strangely pretty faces. They didn’t look at him, but he watched them play together – they looked happy together.
This boy's a beggar
The little boy who rested his back to the window – he didn’t know the boy’s face, but the stripes on his shirt, and his head of dark hair, were always there.
That girl sells her soul
Sometimes there was a blonde girl with him. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and cast him little looks, but she never looked out the window with her big, always tear-filled eyes.
They both work the same street
The same hell hole
He saw the hand tick over to eleven, and heard, just on cue, the rumble of the train. It rolled in, the familiar crimson paint glistening like new – maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. The train slowed after the head disappeared into the next tunnel, and then it stopped.
The doors stayed shut.
There was the boy with sad eyes, and the nice girl who pressed her hands to the window, standing on tip-toes on her seat. She smiled hugely for him, but he stared blankly back. It didn’t deter her, she waved.
The boys playing cards were arguing, one gesturing with a card, the other wearing a proud smirk. The little girl with the blonde hair and the blanket was watching them quietly, sitting on the other side of the train this time, with a girl he didn’t recognise, and who would probably be gone by the time the train rolled around again. They were both teary-eyed.
The dark-haired boy with the striped shirt had shifted, but only so that he was sitting away from the slumbering infant that now took up the isle-side of the other seat. Vaguely, the boy at the station wondered what would happen to the baby – would it grow up and join the familiar faces in the window? Or would it disappear inexplicably by the next trip? Or the next?
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
God bless the child who suffers
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
Let every man help his brother
He watched the nice girl as she waved furiously at him, bouncing a little in her seat. The train was leaving again. Making a tired, almost mournful sound. Picking up speed. The carriages followed the head of the train and were swallowed by the darkness, and more unfamiliar children flashed past, all staring curiously at him. He watched them with dead eyes.
The doors hadn’t opened.
Some are born addicted and some are just thrown away
Some have daddies who make them play games they don't want to play
As usual, the tail of the train came into view at one end of the tunnel as the body of it disappeared into the opposing one. Then it was gone for another circuit of the clock. His eyes returned to its face for a moment, emotions resting in a place between bored and apathetic.
After a few ticks, his attention drifted, mapping the arch of the tunnel once more, taking in the identical platform opposite him. Only, it wasn’t identical, because it had always been empty. No more, it seemed.
But with hope and faith
A girl wearing a plain, many-layered blue dress was sitting on the seat directly across from him. Rather than sitting demurely and silent, she was humming softly, the only sound other than the clock, and her legs swung back and forth. Her eyes were locked directly on his. They were unnerving and unwavering.
And the first word was spoken in their silent world.
“Hello.”
We must understand
He blinked. She stared.
“Hello,” he replied.
She stood in a bouncy movement, almost skipping across her platform – because it was her platform, just as the one he waited at was his – to stand at the edge of it. She smiled at him, tilting her head slightly. Her brown hair was pulled back with black ribbons to match her black eyes.
After a moment of staring at him, she turned around, and rather matter-of-factly, lowered herself onto the tracks.
All God's children need is love
“What’s your name?” she asked, walking a few steps along the metal.
He found himself watching her avidly. She was an anomaly. She was new and different. She was interesting.
But her question caught him off guard, and he frowned, looking for the answer. What was his name?
In a burst of thought, almost obscured by words and sights and smells and sounds, he knew the answer.
“Tom.”
“Hello Tom.”
And us to hold their little hands
For once, he watched neither the clock nor the empty platform across from him. He watched the girl. And they talked. She had a strange voice, all accents in weird places and a giggle hidden in her vowels. She liked to laugh, he found, at random times. He could say anything, and she’d laugh. It didn’t have to be funny. She just liked to laugh. She told him her favourite colour was blue.
He commented it was the colour of her dress, and she frowned and told him, no, the dress wasn’t blue, it was pink. He didn’t argue with her, but he wrinkled his nose and shifted a bit on the seat – it was blue. The blanket crinkled.
This boy is hungry, he ain't got enough to eat
That girl's cold and she ain't got no shoes on her feet
He told her his favourite colour was green. He didn’t know why, it just came out, and he wasn’t sure why green either. He remembered lots of green, for some reason, in the same way he remembered his name; a blur of colours and sounds, wisps of scent and a fleeting brush of touch.
When a child's spirit's broken
And feels all hope is gone
God help them find the strength to carry on
She hummed a song, and he asked her what it was. It was a soft song, and her weird accents and hidden laughs laced even that vague humming. She shrugged, balancing herself on one foot, the other out as straight as she could manage before her. The layers of her dress fell about her legs as she did it, and he could see long white socks.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally voicing a question that had played in his mind.
“Waitin’ for the train. Aren’t you?”
He looked up at the clock, feeling a bubble of surprise burst in his chest when he noticed how much time had passed. The train would come soon. Would the doors open this time?
Would they open for the girl?
The blanket made a soft puff! against the ground when he stood, ignoring it, and approached the edge of the platform dubiously. He stayed well behind the yellow line that told him to go no further, and the girl shot him a disappointed look from dark eyes.
“No. What are you doing down there.”
“Waiting for the train,” she replied impatiently, as though he was asking something stupid.
He felt vaguely alarmed in the back of his mind, but it meant nothing.
“Why?”
“Dunno,” she said thoughtfully a moment later, pausing in her movements. “Why are you waiting up there?”
“I… you’re supposed to wait for the train up here!”
“Why?”
He stared at her, but didn’t answer – it was such a stupid question.
“Why don’t you wait for the train down here with me?”
But with hope and faith
“But… you can only get on from the platform.”
“Are you sure? Have you ever tried standing here?”
“No.”
Yeah, we can understand
“Wait for the train with me.”
Tom bit his lip, and glanced up at the clock. He could always get back up, couldn’t he? If he wanted to, he could just climb back up. He didn’t have to wait with the girl. There was enough time to decide.
All God's children need is love
He crossed the yellow warning line and slipped off the side of the platform. His bare feet touched gravel and then, a moment later, metal. He stood beside the girl, looking into the yawning darkness of the tunnel. It was unnerving, and the same colour as her unnerving eyes.
She smiled at him when he looked at her, and held out her hand.
The clock ticked. The train rumbled. He took her hand.
And us to hold their little hands
For a moment, he wondered about the sad boy, the girl on the seat, the blanket girl and the baby that had appeared, but the train was coming at them, not too fast, really, it would slow down, but fast enough.
She squeezed his hand, and the thought of clambering quickly back up to the platform left his mind. Why would he think to do that?
“What’s your name?” he asked over the roar of the train.
She smiled at him, the her eyes went back to the oncoming, blood-red train.
“Hope.”
And they shattered as the train hit them.
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Let us all love one another
The doors slid open to an empty platform. Welcoming no-one.
Hallelujah, hallelujah
God bless the child who suffers
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
God bless the young without mothers
A little boy sat at a train station. He waited in silence, the balls of his little feet resting on the oddly pristine platform and his disinterested brown eyes observing the clock – or sometimes, the empty platform opposite him.
He was waiting for the train. The train came at the same time – eleven o’clock – and every time it came, he watched it stop, wait, and go again. He watched the wide eyes and distorted faces of children look back at him from train windows, some with noses squashed against the glass and some with their stubby little hands pressed flush to it.
The doors never opened for him, so he didn’t move from his spot. He remained unchanging, a pale blanket folded carefully in his lap and eyes ever watching the clock, waiting for the hand to slide oh-so-slowly over to the intricate eleven once more.
He’d seen the train pass many times – he didn’t bother to count – and seen the children look back at him. They changed from time to time, there was still a few faces he vaguely recognised though, faces he’d seen watching him from the beginning. Or as far back as he remembered.
This child is homeless
There was a little boy with sad eyes. He wore a dark shirt and bit his lip a lot.
That child's on crack
A little girl who stood on the seat and giggled at him, waving enthusiastically as the train started moving off again. She seemed nice.
One plays with a gun
While the other takes a bullet in his back
There was a pair of boys who played cards, blonde hair bound away from strangely pretty faces. They didn’t look at him, but he watched them play together – they looked happy together.
This boy's a beggar
The little boy who rested his back to the window – he didn’t know the boy’s face, but the stripes on his shirt, and his head of dark hair, were always there.
That girl sells her soul
Sometimes there was a blonde girl with him. She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and cast him little looks, but she never looked out the window with her big, always tear-filled eyes.
They both work the same street
The same hell hole
He saw the hand tick over to eleven, and heard, just on cue, the rumble of the train. It rolled in, the familiar crimson paint glistening like new – maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. The train slowed after the head disappeared into the next tunnel, and then it stopped.
The doors stayed shut.
There was the boy with sad eyes, and the nice girl who pressed her hands to the window, standing on tip-toes on her seat. She smiled hugely for him, but he stared blankly back. It didn’t deter her, she waved.
The boys playing cards were arguing, one gesturing with a card, the other wearing a proud smirk. The little girl with the blonde hair and the blanket was watching them quietly, sitting on the other side of the train this time, with a girl he didn’t recognise, and who would probably be gone by the time the train rolled around again. They were both teary-eyed.
The dark-haired boy with the striped shirt had shifted, but only so that he was sitting away from the slumbering infant that now took up the isle-side of the other seat. Vaguely, the boy at the station wondered what would happen to the baby – would it grow up and join the familiar faces in the window? Or would it disappear inexplicably by the next trip? Or the next?
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
God bless the child who suffers
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
Let every man help his brother
He watched the nice girl as she waved furiously at him, bouncing a little in her seat. The train was leaving again. Making a tired, almost mournful sound. Picking up speed. The carriages followed the head of the train and were swallowed by the darkness, and more unfamiliar children flashed past, all staring curiously at him. He watched them with dead eyes.
The doors hadn’t opened.
Some are born addicted and some are just thrown away
Some have daddies who make them play games they don't want to play
As usual, the tail of the train came into view at one end of the tunnel as the body of it disappeared into the opposing one. Then it was gone for another circuit of the clock. His eyes returned to its face for a moment, emotions resting in a place between bored and apathetic.
After a few ticks, his attention drifted, mapping the arch of the tunnel once more, taking in the identical platform opposite him. Only, it wasn’t identical, because it had always been empty. No more, it seemed.
But with hope and faith
A girl wearing a plain, many-layered blue dress was sitting on the seat directly across from him. Rather than sitting demurely and silent, she was humming softly, the only sound other than the clock, and her legs swung back and forth. Her eyes were locked directly on his. They were unnerving and unwavering.
And the first word was spoken in their silent world.
“Hello.”
We must understand
He blinked. She stared.
“Hello,” he replied.
She stood in a bouncy movement, almost skipping across her platform – because it was her platform, just as the one he waited at was his – to stand at the edge of it. She smiled at him, tilting her head slightly. Her brown hair was pulled back with black ribbons to match her black eyes.
After a moment of staring at him, she turned around, and rather matter-of-factly, lowered herself onto the tracks.
All God's children need is love
“What’s your name?” she asked, walking a few steps along the metal.
He found himself watching her avidly. She was an anomaly. She was new and different. She was interesting.
But her question caught him off guard, and he frowned, looking for the answer. What was his name?
In a burst of thought, almost obscured by words and sights and smells and sounds, he knew the answer.
“Tom.”
“Hello Tom.”
And us to hold their little hands
For once, he watched neither the clock nor the empty platform across from him. He watched the girl. And they talked. She had a strange voice, all accents in weird places and a giggle hidden in her vowels. She liked to laugh, he found, at random times. He could say anything, and she’d laugh. It didn’t have to be funny. She just liked to laugh. She told him her favourite colour was blue.
He commented it was the colour of her dress, and she frowned and told him, no, the dress wasn’t blue, it was pink. He didn’t argue with her, but he wrinkled his nose and shifted a bit on the seat – it was blue. The blanket crinkled.
This boy is hungry, he ain't got enough to eat
That girl's cold and she ain't got no shoes on her feet
He told her his favourite colour was green. He didn’t know why, it just came out, and he wasn’t sure why green either. He remembered lots of green, for some reason, in the same way he remembered his name; a blur of colours and sounds, wisps of scent and a fleeting brush of touch.
When a child's spirit's broken
And feels all hope is gone
God help them find the strength to carry on
She hummed a song, and he asked her what it was. It was a soft song, and her weird accents and hidden laughs laced even that vague humming. She shrugged, balancing herself on one foot, the other out as straight as she could manage before her. The layers of her dress fell about her legs as she did it, and he could see long white socks.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally voicing a question that had played in his mind.
“Waitin’ for the train. Aren’t you?”
He looked up at the clock, feeling a bubble of surprise burst in his chest when he noticed how much time had passed. The train would come soon. Would the doors open this time?
Would they open for the girl?
The blanket made a soft puff! against the ground when he stood, ignoring it, and approached the edge of the platform dubiously. He stayed well behind the yellow line that told him to go no further, and the girl shot him a disappointed look from dark eyes.
“No. What are you doing down there.”
“Waiting for the train,” she replied impatiently, as though he was asking something stupid.
He felt vaguely alarmed in the back of his mind, but it meant nothing.
“Why?”
“Dunno,” she said thoughtfully a moment later, pausing in her movements. “Why are you waiting up there?”
“I… you’re supposed to wait for the train up here!”
“Why?”
He stared at her, but didn’t answer – it was such a stupid question.
“Why don’t you wait for the train down here with me?”
But with hope and faith
“But… you can only get on from the platform.”
“Are you sure? Have you ever tried standing here?”
“No.”
Yeah, we can understand
“Wait for the train with me.”
Tom bit his lip, and glanced up at the clock. He could always get back up, couldn’t he? If he wanted to, he could just climb back up. He didn’t have to wait with the girl. There was enough time to decide.
All God's children need is love
He crossed the yellow warning line and slipped off the side of the platform. His bare feet touched gravel and then, a moment later, metal. He stood beside the girl, looking into the yawning darkness of the tunnel. It was unnerving, and the same colour as her unnerving eyes.
She smiled at him when he looked at her, and held out her hand.
The clock ticked. The train rumbled. He took her hand.
And us to hold their little hands
For a moment, he wondered about the sad boy, the girl on the seat, the blanket girl and the baby that had appeared, but the train was coming at them, not too fast, really, it would slow down, but fast enough.
She squeezed his hand, and the thought of clambering quickly back up to the platform left his mind. Why would he think to do that?
“What’s your name?” he asked over the roar of the train.
She smiled at him, the her eyes went back to the oncoming, blood-red train.
“Hope.”
And they shattered as the train hit them.
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Let us all love one another
The doors slid open to an empty platform. Welcoming no-one.
Hallelujah, hallelujah
God bless the child who suffers