The conversation that never was
Bus stop. An everyday destination it was.
But tonight, a silence cloaked the place.
It was late, apprehension coloured my face. Tired with the dayís work,
silence was not
unwelcome. The eeriness could be troublesome. Approaching the bus stop, I came to a halt.
There he was. A tramp, staring with hawk-like eyes. I waited for my ride. ďItís quite late, isnít it?Ē he said. Nodding my head, I feigned
agreement. In no mood for conversation. I yearned to reach home as stars filled the night sky.
Do you work for money? Or is it self-respect? Judging by the hour, you like your work. I expect.
Surprised to the bones, I was, for never did I
surmise, that a drifter could pose a question this wise. A beggar by fate? Or pauper by choice?
Chuckling, he said, I get that look often, yours isnít the first case,
Who are you? The words tumbled out of my mouth.
I feared this conversation would go south. You wouldnít believe me if I told you, gravely he said.
Had to satiate curiosity, this troublesome
confusion, When light shone behind him, giving a saint-like illusion.
It was the bus, an
interruption, Funny, for few minutes ago, I felt its need. Good night, Sir, I said and took my leave.
He said you might have left your house keys
back there. Searching
my pockets, when I looked up, he had
vanished into thin air.
Class XII, Science
St Michaelís High School