For the last time, he had a seat on a bench that bore the initials of a generation. Somewhere, he said to himself as he rubbed his hand across the bench, searching but to no avail. In the near distance sat the wrecking ball that would erase any sign of the old train station whose tracks were removed years ago to make way for asphalt roads, and to close the station that once bustled with travelers who now chose faster means of transportation.
He got up and walked inside, the wooden floor buckling as he made his way to the ticket counter, something he remembers doing to purchase a ticket to the city on more than one occasion. Rust-stained porcelain sinks and unhinged restroom doors were just a couple of things that were vandalized over time. He remembers the benches inside where you'd sit, waiting for the train, as people spoke to those beside them, sharing stories of their travels that day. Some sad news, but more often than not, talking about going home for a special occasion with the kids who would ride their first train, claiming the window seats.
He stood in silence, broken by the sound of a flock of birds guarding their nests, and wished he could somehow warn them of the impending doom. He saw the broken newsstand, once filled with the day's newspapers, travel guides, and dime novels to pass the time on a long journey. He returned to the outside bench and once again rubbed the surface, looking for his heart, but it wasn't meant to be. Darkness fell, and soon the police would shine their lights, looking for any looters, even though the place had been all but destroyed.
Morning came, and he returned to join a group of people standing behind the yellow tape as the wrecking ball started up, black smoke billowing from its engine, waiting for its cue to proceed. Then, with the swing of the ball, it landed blow after blow until all that remained was a pile of wood and twisted metal. Other machines moved in, filling dump trucks one load after another until all that remained was a dark spot of nothing. The tape was removed, and the people went on with their day- well, almost everybody- as he walked slowly around the dark spot when perseverance paid off. He stooped down, brushing dirt from an object he believed to be the outside bench. It was a small heart-shaped carving on a piece of that bench, maybe three inches in size. He put it in his pocket and slowly walked away, turning around one last time, rubbing the heart to remember the station, now forever in the memory book of his life.
He stood in silence, broken by the sound of a flock of birds guarding their nests, and wished he could somehow warn them of the impending doom. He saw the broken newsstand, once filled with the day's newspapers, travel guides, and dime novels to pass the time on a long journey. He returned to the outside bench and once again rubbed the surface, looking for his heart, but it wasn't meant to be. Darkness fell, and soon the police would shine their lights, looking for any looters, even though the place had been all but destroyed.
Morning came, and he returned to join a group of people standing behind the yellow tape as the wrecking ball started up, black smoke billowing from its engine, waiting for its cue to proceed. Then, with the swing of the ball, it landed blow after blow until all that remained was a pile of wood and twisted metal. Other machines moved in, filling dump trucks one load after another until all that remained was a dark spot of nothing. The tape was removed, and the people went on with their day- well, almost everybody- as he walked slowly around the dark spot when perseverance paid off. He stooped down, brushing dirt from an object he believed to be the outside bench. It was a small heart-shaped carving on a piece of that bench, maybe three inches in size. He put it in his pocket and slowly walked away, turning around one last time, rubbing the heart to remember the station, now forever in the memory book of his life.
Mike 2026 
Mike 2026
Mike 2026
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