Sunday, 10 October 2010

"But I hate Busy Trains..."

A boy holds his mother's hand on the platform at King's Cross. He's about five and his big, dark, beautiful eyes are filled with sadness as the train approaches. It's quite full.
"But I hate busy trains," he says, bottom lip quivering.
"It's okay," his mother says as the doors open and people file off.
There are seats and they sit down. He's still not pleased and gazes up at the map. His mother strokes his chestnut hair, which falls just above his eyebrows and takes his hand. She reassures him that it's not far to Camden Town, from where they will change.
He doesn't want to change but after some persuasion, he says, "okay."
His eyes move to the advert next to the map, "Mum, look, it says 'donate yourself', why does it say that?"
And just as she's about to explain he says, "I know what donate yourself means, it means give yourself to somebody else."
And then we're at Camden Town. They walk away. He doesn't look sad anymore.

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