The First Time I Seen A Stranger’s Soul

It was a cold Monday evening with autumn fast approaching. The trees stood quietly, no dancing in the wind, no wind. Rain splashed the ground straight and hard and the grey and unkind clouds hindered the blue sky. I sat in my velvet red train chair peering out of a wooden window, which revealed whitish paint. I sat watching the brown beast of the earth play in the rain until a strong brown man interrupted my view. The colour of cappuccino, he stood tall collecting rubbish on this oldish steam train. He wore all black and looked like his head had been polished, like a surfboard, because the light bounced off the waxy surface. I stayed sitting as he walked past me and he grabbed an old and helpless man who seemed lost sitting him down opposite me. His kind brown eyes looked at me with a smile and it was at that moment, I seen his soul. I seen the goodness in his heart, the purity, the struggle. Amazing.


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