The man in dirty rags had managed to drag himself near a railway station. But it was weird. Everything is dark there. It is not the period that we know of. at least not yet. It is the future. Much after politicians had finished looting the world. They were being very stupid, though they thought they were very smart for themselves. They did not know when you steal from your own home (planet), you are stealing your own stuff. Gradually they lost significance, then importance and worse was when they became irrelevant. Unnoticed, they kept dying one by one; meeting their fate.

He stepped into the dark station building. Taking support of a pillar, he looked at the ticket window. It was dark there too. No one seemed to be manning it. He entered the platform. No one asked him for a ticket or identification. He was on the first platform. As his vision adjusted, he noticed numerous people everywhere. It was difficult to guess if they were waiting for a train or just… being there. He was almost dead, as in dead tired. He looked around to lie down or sit at least with the support of a wall. There was no place to perch even on the floor. Every chair, cement benches, carts, book shop, tea stall everything was taken. People were lying all over. There was no tea being made. No fruits being sold or any newspaper on the stand. Just people, everywhere! He looked at a distance, towards the end of the platform. He decided to walk towards the end of the platform. He had to dodge people all the way; sometime even jump over few of them huddled together.

He reached the post where the name of the station is written in large alphabets and the platform slopes down to meet the ground. He was not interested but just thought to find which station it was. He touched the large slab of stone and moved his palm over it to find the name, like brail. He thought he found the name, but did not find it familiar, ‘zomboutipod’. He had never heard of it.

Any ways he was not here to find where he was; but to find a six feet space to rest. He found it one foot short, under the name board. He sprawled on the ground and placed his legs up on the pillar of the board. Comfortable was not the word. It was more like heavenly or blissful.

He was dreaming soon.
…he is a four year old travelling in Delhi metro with his elder uncle. The trains ran on electricity. They were so smooth. The stations were brightly lit. He thought, if by chance that light suddenly returned here, he might have to close his eyes for a long time to avoid over exposure. Suddenly he dreamed his eyes were covered with a film filled with red liquid. It took some time to realize that sun light was filtering through his eye lids. He was still on his back. He had a company though. A dog had snuggled next to him. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned sideways to look in the distance; for a train, for some movement, for some one walking… all he saw was rail tracks which playfully wound themselves like a pair of snakes and disappeared into the oblivion. Just like the reality. Just like the life once he had, everyone had.

There was no hope for a train, no hope from and for the people laying all over, no hope from and for the system. There has been no system for as long he could remember, unless he went back 65 years.

Only hope that was there was from the dirty little dog, sleeping next to him.