How Far Would You Agree That ”Animal Farm” Is, As Orwell Himself Described It, A ‘Fairy Story.’

5 down. A word that is utilized in dermatology. 6 letters.

That’s a difficult one … what’s dermatology? Itches … that doesn’t fit. Scratch … I do not know.

I was considering whether I must go over to that old man who was leaning against the fence. He had been there, in the same position, smiling and nodding at me for the last half an hour. Maybe I should inform him to get a life? I sighed; I was so bored. Maybe this is what waiting does to you?

Why was I doing this silly crossword? I need to be on the train now, on my way back to Cardiff; there I would be getting drunk out of my mind. What was I going to say to Rob? “Sorry mate, couldn’t concern your stag do, the train came late?” What a lame reason.

When would that silly train come? The guard over there was looking delighted, probably because he was delighting in viewing all us commuters suffer. Possibly I need to show him what it’s like, missing out on pints of complimentary beer, strippers AND my finest mate’s stag do.

Paranoia had actually set upon me. I had already begun to believe everyone was out to get me, and maybe I was right? No, I hastily corrected myself, they don’t even know me. Why in the world was I paranoid? I imply, I utilized to take this journey everyday when I was a kid … but things change. I was far more knowledgeable about everything now.

At my feet, lay my briefcase; normally my portfolio would lie there, with all its sketches illustrating life. For a short second, I wished I could return in time, and no longer feel the strength of their adult years: having to work to survive, owning a house and so on. I closed my eyes wearily. The train still hadn’t come.

Disappointed, my impulses told me to just wait, but, neglecting them, I marched over to the guard, and required to know when the train would arrive. He offered no spoken answer, and just gestured at the electronic board above his head. He then strolled off, presumably to assist some old dear bring her travel luggage. Not.

The notice board told me that my train would be postponed indefinitely. Estimated time of arrival was at least 4 hours away, if not more. I plunged back down onto the red plastic, low-cost station seating, and resigned myself to a long wait. I got out my mobile, and began to text Rob, apologising for not existing. My text contained numerous words of crude language.

As I started to text, I stopped. I kept in mind that I was at a station; where better to observe human life? Here, I could capture normal life, without having to draw forced behaviour. I looked across the congested game. Business people, old people, women with extreme hair-dos, punks, anarchists, goths, Asians, Africans … nobody uncommon. I didn’t know quite what I was searching for, but I understood they would stand out.

Simply as I looked past the Sainsbury’s outlet, a female burst in through the door from the high street, nearly colliding with the ‘Welcome to Paddington’ indication. She was drenched to the bone, although I didn’t understand how; it wasn’t even raining.

She had a strange search her face, among concern and exhaustion, yet somehow triumphant. She ran towards the platform, skidding a number of times, and ran directly to the guard. I might see her lips moving, but all I could hear was the crackly disturbance on the intercom. The guard strolled off while she was still talking, and she was left standing there, alone.

I had actually never ever seen such a distinct woman in my life. She had actually auburn hair, naturally highlighted in streaks with a dull ginger colour, brilliant green eyes nearly like a feline, which were opened large as if she was annoyed …

Her eyebrows reduced as I saw her eyes scan across the schedule. What train was she awaiting? I told myself I would not get involved. She was beautiful, however I already had a girlfriend: a kind generous one at that. No, I didn’t like this female, but was just enthralled by her.

As she took a seat, drips of water ran off her hair onto her top. She sat herself down on the nearby bench to mine, and grabbed her bag. Her hand dug deep within, and things went flying all over. Tissues spread themselves all over her skirt, leaving bits of white fluff, which contrasted horribly with her blue and burgundy-striped skirt.

A lipstick gracefully went cruising out of the bag, flew through the air, till it landed back on the platform. It then slid itself underneath the barrier, on the very edge of the platform.

The woman flung more things out of the bag; the Vaseline came out, the cover fell off, and the includes went everywhere; a handbag hit an old lady sitting near her who then started mumbling; photos of children and other people; tickets for buses and trains; invoices for petrol, shopping and clothes; a calculator fell out and made a crack noise; a movie, mint wrappers, pens … anything you can name remained in there.

Unfortunately, still more things came out. A mirror went flying through the air, straight towards an old guy. He searched for just before it struck him, and caught it. I presume he then made a comment about 9 years misfortune as he handed it back, though I could not hear him, as the intercom was raving cheap baggage cases at G&R Cases.

Finally, she pulled out, with relish a mobile phone and a hairbrush. She started to brush her hair vigorously using the mirror. She put it back in, then looked around in scary, at the scene of damage that she had actually created. Irritated (it appeared), she went around this part of the station, picking whatever back up. I wanted to help, however I dared not; something was rooting me to the ground. Worry.

The female lastly changed the lipstick back in her handbag, and took a look around. Seeing the shops, she walked off towards them. I followed. As I strolled towards the commercial side of the station, I made up a cover story. If she observed I was following and asked me, I would state either

a) I believed you were someone else, or

b) I need to get some apples … wait, but why would I require to go to all the same stores as her?

I decided I would only utilize choice a) if asked. She strolled into Boots, and I followed. Why was I following her? I had no idea, but this lady interested me. Under the pretence of searching for a tooth brush, I saw her buy some Nurofen, shaving cream, Lynx deodorant, and a razor. Why did she require that? It was ‘man’ things. Lastly, she meandered over to the cosmetics area, where she dithered over purchasing a plum-coloured shade of finger paint things. What was it called again? Oh yeah, nail varnish. After about 45 minutes therein, she paid up using her card, and left.

*****

Throughout the next 11/2 hours, she went to the luggage store, Woolworths where she bought a large bag of choice ‘n’ mix, Sainsbury’s to purchase some pasta, and a floral designer. After coming out of the last shop with a bouquet of irises, she returned to the red plastic bench, and took a seat. I waited on a while, and then did the same. On my way back to the bench, I looked up at the notice board. 2 hours before the train showed up.

The lady seemed to be getting worried. She was straightening her skirt, getting rid of every little crease or damage. She sat there, looking agitated for a while. She sneezed unexpectedly, and took a look around, wincing apologetically. Then a train pulled up into the station. This was the 19:56 train drawing in, and she stood, and ran towards the barrier.

People filed out, and the sound level in my head gradually grew, but I could not make sense of it. All I could hear was limitless jumble; babbling, talking, however one conversation indistinguishable from another. I could hear this in the background, however in the foreground there was silence, extra her breathing. A friendly old lady was attempting to question me, however I could neither see nor hear her plainly. I was looking at her, however yet not seeing her.

It was the same with the rest of the passengers: they had no functions in my head. All I could see were faces, with one face standing apart: the female’s. Her face had functions: elegant ones, which appeared ideal to me. Everybody else was the exact same, blank, just going. Her face told a story, one that I was attempting to discover.

I had become extremely overwhelmed by this lady. I watched her stand by the rail, lean over, gripping her hands with the rail between them. She stood on the lowest bar, held the bar with both hands and swung. She then leaned totally over the bar, got off it, and simply held it with one hand.

As the stragglers among the travelers filed out, the train emptied, and her face started to reveal distress. As the doors on the one side closed, and the boarding guests got on, she looked troubled. She ranged from one direction to another, trying to find a way to get to the opposite of the bar, looking for a guard. But there was nobody to help her. As the train left, confusion came upon her face. She then gradually kicked back down on her seat, and, with a look of decision, looked like nobody might make her relocation.

The train left, and the station ended up being emptier. Most people had got on the last train, which had left for Greenwich. My train, nevertheless, was still conspicuous by its absence. I should now be at the club with Rob and the rest of his mates, getting increasingly more drunk by the minute.

Out of the corner of my eye, I might see the woman going out her mobile. It was rather an old design for an individual her age: I thought she would have a 3310 a minimum of, given that she looked about 23. But no, she had a Sony, with a pullout aerial and tiny screen. She was striking the secrets at a moderate speed, certainly texting. I might almost construct out the words ‘Where are you’ from where I was sitting. Then she struck one button hard, and kicked back. I heard a faint beep; clearly the message had been sent out.

The time kept ticking away on the huge blue electrical clock. The second hand appeared to practically be slowing down, though I doubted that. The schedule kept saying that my train would show up in one minute less time than eleventh hour, until it stated my train would get here in 45 minutes. Nevertheless, by that pint, I dared not raise my hopes, as it had said that so many times before I no longer thought it.

Time appeared to almost be coming to a dead stop, when I heard a sharp horn go, and another train gradually came round the corner into the primary station. The lady ran towards the bar once again, a fresh look of joy on her face, but in the corner lay a tip of fear? I wasn’t sure. Her irises in her hand, she stood on the rail, leaning over. Her liberty had nothing to do: it darted from the rail to her pocket to her skirt, and after that it held the irises, then back to the bar.

The travelers again stopped leaving, and the train was once again cleared. Through the windows a few silhouettes stayed, so she looked like she still had a little hope. The final three passengers came out, and she fled from the bar, flinging down the irises onto the flooring. From my seat, I could see her head held in between her hands, and her chest was heaving gently: was she sobbing? She rummaged in her bag for a tissue, and, after wiping her tears away, gently picked up the irises from the ground, and held them in her arms.

An old lady, who had actually seen the plight of the female and her irises both of which had started to wilt forlornly, walked over to her, began speaking to her about the plight of the rails nowadays (I was now within earshot) and offered her a vase of water for the irises. As she left, the woman started to smile once again, seeing the flowers liven up.

After 2 more trains had come and gone, the female’s spirits had fallen nearly irretrievably low and different texts, I saw her call somebody, potentially the person who she was waiting on. She was muttering ‘Get, damn you, pick up’, and when the response phone came on, she almost burst into tears. She left a heartrending message, and I saw her visbly choke back tears a few times. Then she hung up, and waited.

The lady’s skirt was now folded, her leading tearstained, the flowers passing away, but hope of the person showing up kept a brave smile on her face. However, the smile was not for me, really, it seemed practically everyone however. She didn’t appear to even observe I existed.

Then I heard a message on the intercom:

‘We are extremely sorry for any hold-ups, but the 19:56 train and the 17:56 trains have actually been integrated. They will soon be arriving. We are sorry for any hassle. Please forward any problems to the Railtrack Workplace in Cornwall. Thank you for your persistence.’

Lastly! My train was in fact going to show up! What’s more, in just a couple of minutes! But one thing practically scared me: it had combined with the female’s train. Was it coincidence? Or large possibility …

However, I had no possibility to contemplate this concern as the train drew in at that moment. The female ran over to the rail, as I queued to get aboard. From my place in the line, I was at a great viewpoint to see whom the female was going to reunite with, and the delighted occasion itself.

A guy got off the train, and the woman was waving at him incredibly. However, he took a look around fast, didn’t appear to see her, and beckoned another lady off the train.

At that point, my woman started to look confused, as if sensation why hadn’t he seen her? She was practically at the point of climbing up over the rail.

The man who had left the train, and female with him grabbed each other, and kissed passionately. My female looked aghast, stunned, and distraught simultaneously. She then took a sharp intake of breath. The male looked round and saw my lady looking distraught. The woman looked around, and caught my look. For a rapid second we comprehended each other, then it stopped.

I heard him attempting to explain, however it recommended absolutely nothing. As I boarded the train, I saw the irises hit him in the face, the shopping hit the other female, and my woman walked off into the darkness, in the instructions of the approaching trains. Nevertheless, I had no time to find out what occurred next, and the train slowly began to accelerate away. I realised that I had actually been looking at her unashamedly for the last 4 hours, and I felt I knew her; but all she understood of me was a 2nd.

The last thing I heard before the noise of the train shut out whatever else was a screech: was it a scream, or merely the doors closing? I understood I would never understand, and concentrated on eagerly anticipating the journey: who understands what might occur?

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