The Telegraph
Friday , November 30 , 2012
Since 1st March, 1999
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My Take

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

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