DEPARTURE : COG

[[TRIGGER WARNING]]
[[THIS PIECE CONTAINS THEMES SURROUNDING]]
[[SUICIDE AND MAY NOT BE SUITABLE]]
[[FOR ALL AUDIENCES]]

[[IF THESE ARE KNOWN TO]]
[[TRIGGER RESPONSES IN YOU]]
[[PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE]]


Everyone huddled together for the picture. The petite little girl in the front, a middle-aged man behind her, a taller boy(the girl's older brother, perhaps), and another man about the same age as the first stood firmly, yet fidgeting a bit. They all seemed to be nervous about something; something that must have happened recently. I took a puff of my pipe and continued to observe. The water becomes clearer, you see, from an outside perspective. This is why it's important to be able to see the world in a way other than your own. They were too far away for me to hear them, but the girl flinched and the boy pulled her aside. Maybe he wasn't her brother after all. A lady who looked about forty wearing a sundress with muted tones stood about five feet away, holding a camera. She was very focused and irritated at the group for not keeping it together. I took a step forward.

There was some indistinct shouting and barbaric hand-waving. One of the older men, the one that was fidgeting you see, punched the other in the face. More shouting. I can't make out what they're saying. I can try to read their lips, but I was never any good at that. I don't even know how people learn to do that, it's mad. The mother- I'm assuming that's who this lady taking the picture is- dropped the camera and rushed to the girl's side. The little girl was...explaining something to her frantically. I squinted my eyes and saw the fidgeting man push the other to the ground and punch him again. No one was helping or interfering. It must be family business after all, and if you barge into that, who knows, what else you'll get wrapped up in. Trouble, that's what. Only trouble. Only trouble waits for you, yet trouble waits for no one. I took two steps forward.

I was close enough to hear some words now.
"How dare you...lay your filthy dirty hands on my daughter...I oughta have you down in with right here, right now." the fidgety man said. His voice was shaking. He didn't appear to be a strong man, no, not at all. Surely quite nervous. Everyone walked by, pretending they didn't see a single thing. This circle, you might think would be the center of attention, but no. No one cared, not enough to even give a glance.
"Dad, come on. I think that's enough. You know they have enough trouble as it is, I heard the government isn't even giving them protective services anymore." the boy said.
"You think I care? Stop me then, why don't you? I'm saving this decrepit bastard from being lynched. You haven't seen what they would do to him, everyone's been waiting for us to leave. Once we do, they'll leave him to starve, wring him inside-out, and burn his skin with hot oil. You understand me, boy?" his father said.
The boy grimaced and took a step backwards.

"You know what? If that's how you feel, fine. But I'm better than that. I'm better than you, all of you. This isn't just about us anymore, why can't you see that?" the boy said. The father let go of the older man and looked at his son. They stared into each other's eyes and the older man decided to make a run for it. The son looked like he was about to say something, until his father sharply said "Leave it." The older man made about twelve feet until someone tripped him. He laid there with his face flat on the ground as the man who tripped him, a scrawny fellow who looked as though he hadn't eaten in a week, stomped on him repeatedly. The scrawny man laughed, cackled, and spat on him. Everyone else walked right around them without thinking, as if they were on autopilot. The scrawny fellow pulled down his tattered trousers and started urinating on the already battered and humiliated man. There's a certain je ne sais pas I suppose about a man urinating on someone while cackling like a mad idiot. I took another hit from my pipe and pitied the older man; how it must feel to be burdened everyday with no one giving a care in the world about your pain. The irony, of course, is that there were hundreds of people passing people and the troubles of this man were clear as day. It was half past noon, you would have to be blind to not see this atrocity. Everyone walks past the egregious acts appearing in broad daylight, it's no wonder no one pays any heed to the agony that you can't see. Hidden under blankets of effervescence because no one wants to see that. The scrawny fellow had finished his fun and went on his way, but not before kicking the older man in the head one last time. The son sighed in frustration, and I could hear the mother grumbling, "I knew we shouldn't have brought him." The truth is, before I came here today, part of me was looking for something. Not something to change my mind about this, no, I was certain nothing could change my mind. I was looking for one last glimpse of the world. One last snapshot you could say. The camera that the mother had dropped was still there, still so very still, waiting for a subject to capture. I took another two steps forward.

I began whistling. It's nice to whistle. You wouldn't believe how many people I've known that can't whistle...Jeffrey, Thomas, London, Sally, Pendel, Amy, the list goes on. If there's something I can do well, I guess it's whistling. I always felt it made me stand apart. Hmm, what's a nice tune? I suppose The Little Drummer Boy is a fun song to whistle. I started on that for a bit, but decided it was a bit too simple. I had been to Germany once; heard a song called Gold from the Stars. Lovely melody. I'll whistle that. The family looked quite somber now, although it wasn't too much of a difference from what they looked like before. Well, it's not like they deserve any better, really. I continued whistling, but it got harder to hear myself whistling. Oh well, at least I know I'm whistling. The wind carried the sound and the mother noticed the melody. Can you hear it? I thought to myself. I can't. It was too quiet now, I couldn't hear my whistling anymore. It was almost here. The mother turned pale and turned to her children. I took another two steps forward.





No more whistling, my train ar