A clattering of the train changing tracks interrupts his reverie. He waits for the steady sound to settle once more. He dreams again.

The lights had been dim at first, a faint, sporadic glowing in the thickly smeared dark. He didn’t remember when they had begun… they were just there one night; perhaps they had always been there. Some nights there were not, and there was no telling when they would appear again.

He would sit and scan the dark almost every night. On the nights the lights didn’t appear he knew they had gone someplace else. Was someone else watching them? – he’d wonder.

The train changes tracks again.


Slowly the lights had become brighter, a bit more lingering – even after they had gone. Some days, he thought they were moving towards him and on those days he even felt slightly warm. When they were gone, the cold returned.

The darkness too…

Please let me tell you, in case you understand otherwise – the darkness brought him more comfort than the lights. The dark had always helped him cry.

Far away, the train lets out a hollow howl.

I looked at him.

His eyes closed, a smile fleeting on his lips.

I wonder if he knows I am telling you all of this. If he does, he does not object.


One night, the lights stayed on. And he had started walking towards them, that’s when they began to change colour.







He felt warm. He did not feel the need to search anymore.

All he had to do was close his eyes.

The train clatters, again.

About victoranish

A theatre worker living in Bangalore.
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