Angel
No poetry today! I am trying my hand at story-telling.
I think Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" is the ultimate Christmas story. I like it for its wonderful characters, its craftsmanship, and of course its political undertones of poverty and social injustice. A timeless classic, it is a tale that is relevant today as it was in the Victorian times it was written.
I have been cynical and grouchy and bad-tempered this year. So I have written this little Christmas story, a tale about hope and redemption. I hope my readers will like it. I promise to post a poem the next time around.
image by dsnake1
Angel
1.
He stood at the train platform, waiting for the train to arrive. The large TV monitor above him flashed 10.00 p.m and announced that the train will reach the station in another two minutes. Two hours to Christmas and in two minutes his sufferings will end. All around him were people talking, laughing, giggling, lugging last minute Christmas shopping, all absorbed in the festive spirit.
He looked down at the shopping mall and the shops around the train station, where he had wandered, like a dazed man, for the last two hours. It was a tough decision to make. But the world was just too unfair to him. Why did his company laid him off while less deserving ones stayed? He was unemployed for nearly a year, not that he did not try to get employment. It was either they had someone for the job, or that he was too old. He watched as his savings dwindled, until it was gone. His wife had to go out to work at a fast food joint to help out, and he felt sorry for his daughter, for he could not afford a proper meal for her each day, let alone the computer she had so wanted.
Two months back, a man in his same situation had jumped onto a rail track, in the path of an approaching train, killing himself. The case was given wide coverage in the media, after the dead man’s plight was made known. Donations from a sympathetic public were made to the man’s family. Large donations. He hoped this will repeat with him. If his death will result in a better life for his family, it was a trade-off he would gladly make.
As he inched himself nearer to the edge of the platform, he felt a gentle tug at his hand. A little girl, maybe not yet ten, smiled at him, holding up a tin can. “Hello sir, donation to the poor?” For a child so young, her voice rang with a clarity he had never heard before, like a choral hymn he had heard once when he was young.
The little girl had jet black hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail and fastened with a floral band. She had on a pure white frock laced with gold trimmings. It was a rare outfit to see on a girl these days, what with their denims, shorts and camo prints. Her clear brown eyes shone with such an intense innocence and compassion he had not seen before. He dug in his pocket for his last five dollar note, folded it, and put it in the can. He squatted down and took a closer look at the girl.
She so reminded him of his daughter, they were about the same age. He noted that her daughter was leagues away from this one, but he loved his daughter all his life. There were almost tears in his eyes, as he pointed at the plain-looking tin can and asked her what charity was that. Salvation Army? Spastic Children?
The little girl smiled and pointed at the TV monitor above him. He looked up and instead of the usual ads for movies and train arrival times, a tableau of a person’s life unfolded before him. He recognized the person as himself. There he was at his wedding, laughing and holding his bride. The happy day when his daughter arrived. And then the scene changed, he was walking towards the edge of the platform, as if a few moments ago, the train screaming into the station. And finally, he saw his wife, gaunt, eyes swollen from tears, calling his name, and his daughter calling for her father.
He wanted to say, no, stop this! He stood transfixed, as if a fossil frozen in time, a million thoughts tumbling through his brain. Suddenly, he remembered the girl, and turned his head to look for her. But she was gone; he was standing alone in a deserted train station.
When he looked up at the TV monitor again, it was flashing 10.00 pm and announced that the train will reach the station in another two minutes. All around him were people talking, laughing, giggling, lugging last minute Christmas shopping, all absorbed in the festive spirit. And then he felt a calm he had not known for a long time, covering him like a warm blanket, coursing all inside him. He knew exactly what he had to do. As the train curved into the station, he ran.
( to be continued...)
I think Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" is the ultimate Christmas story. I like it for its wonderful characters, its craftsmanship, and of course its political undertones of poverty and social injustice. A timeless classic, it is a tale that is relevant today as it was in the Victorian times it was written.
I have been cynical and grouchy and bad-tempered this year. So I have written this little Christmas story, a tale about hope and redemption. I hope my readers will like it. I promise to post a poem the next time around.
image by dsnake1
Angel
1.
He stood at the train platform, waiting for the train to arrive. The large TV monitor above him flashed 10.00 p.m and announced that the train will reach the station in another two minutes. Two hours to Christmas and in two minutes his sufferings will end. All around him were people talking, laughing, giggling, lugging last minute Christmas shopping, all absorbed in the festive spirit.
He looked down at the shopping mall and the shops around the train station, where he had wandered, like a dazed man, for the last two hours. It was a tough decision to make. But the world was just too unfair to him. Why did his company laid him off while less deserving ones stayed? He was unemployed for nearly a year, not that he did not try to get employment. It was either they had someone for the job, or that he was too old. He watched as his savings dwindled, until it was gone. His wife had to go out to work at a fast food joint to help out, and he felt sorry for his daughter, for he could not afford a proper meal for her each day, let alone the computer she had so wanted.
Two months back, a man in his same situation had jumped onto a rail track, in the path of an approaching train, killing himself. The case was given wide coverage in the media, after the dead man’s plight was made known. Donations from a sympathetic public were made to the man’s family. Large donations. He hoped this will repeat with him. If his death will result in a better life for his family, it was a trade-off he would gladly make.
As he inched himself nearer to the edge of the platform, he felt a gentle tug at his hand. A little girl, maybe not yet ten, smiled at him, holding up a tin can. “Hello sir, donation to the poor?” For a child so young, her voice rang with a clarity he had never heard before, like a choral hymn he had heard once when he was young.
The little girl had jet black hair, pulled back in a neat ponytail and fastened with a floral band. She had on a pure white frock laced with gold trimmings. It was a rare outfit to see on a girl these days, what with their denims, shorts and camo prints. Her clear brown eyes shone with such an intense innocence and compassion he had not seen before. He dug in his pocket for his last five dollar note, folded it, and put it in the can. He squatted down and took a closer look at the girl.
She so reminded him of his daughter, they were about the same age. He noted that her daughter was leagues away from this one, but he loved his daughter all his life. There were almost tears in his eyes, as he pointed at the plain-looking tin can and asked her what charity was that. Salvation Army? Spastic Children?
The little girl smiled and pointed at the TV monitor above him. He looked up and instead of the usual ads for movies and train arrival times, a tableau of a person’s life unfolded before him. He recognized the person as himself. There he was at his wedding, laughing and holding his bride. The happy day when his daughter arrived. And then the scene changed, he was walking towards the edge of the platform, as if a few moments ago, the train screaming into the station. And finally, he saw his wife, gaunt, eyes swollen from tears, calling his name, and his daughter calling for her father.
He wanted to say, no, stop this! He stood transfixed, as if a fossil frozen in time, a million thoughts tumbling through his brain. Suddenly, he remembered the girl, and turned his head to look for her. But she was gone; he was standing alone in a deserted train station.
When he looked up at the TV monitor again, it was flashing 10.00 pm and announced that the train will reach the station in another two minutes. All around him were people talking, laughing, giggling, lugging last minute Christmas shopping, all absorbed in the festive spirit. And then he felt a calm he had not known for a long time, covering him like a warm blanket, coursing all inside him. He knew exactly what he had to do. As the train curved into the station, he ran.
( to be continued...)
Labels: angel, Christmas story, family
posted by dsnake1 at 1:09 PM
7 Comments:
dsnake, this is as great a substitute for poetry as any i've read. please don't stop :)
This is quite intriguing. Hope you'll continue the story soon! :-)
- Liz
polona, Liz,
thank you for the interest in the story. :)
part 2 is posted today.
WOW!!! Ok I'm hooked. going to the next one. Damned fine read my friend!!
thank you, pat.
just trying my hand at writing something with more words. :)
Hi Dsnake1,
No time to read this now, but I love stories as much as poetry, so I'll be back.
Happy Holidays to you and yours!
gel,
you are always welcome!
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