Muffled cries

I am at the station surrounded by a sea of people floating by passively and waiting impatiently for the suburban train. Some of them I know are daily commuters like me. Their expressions are similar- tired, overworked, angry, anxious and devoid of joy. Do I look as indifferent and apathetic like them, I wonder sometimes.

Real human interactions are so rare these days. We commuters avoid communicating with each other by burying ourselves in phones, laptops or books. On normal days, I also behave like these passengers. I avoid eye contact and smugly refuse to participate in their small talks.

But, today I crave for conversations to fill up the void. Even the mundane kind would be nice to ease the pain that’s gnawing at me inside. I wish someone could see that I am hurting. I could really use some conversation right now.

The thought of going back to our empty house fills me with dread. I wake up at night and cry till my voice becomes hoarse and eyes sore. Oh! I miss you so much.

Can someone in the crowd just come and hug me right away? I don’t want to be alone today. Please.


Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

black-and-white-person-train-motion-42153 Pixel photo


All rights reserved to or Piyali Roy Bhowmick

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