The word

Central at five ofclock in the morning

Five ofclock in the morning. An awkward time it was, one which many would not have ventured in fear of the unknown. The station was under a guise of darkness, a fearful yet fragile covering in which sight and sound were virtually useless because of the lack of existence. Every now and then a train would rumble past, followed by a cacophonous string of words announcing the next train and safety warnings which in turn were accentuated by the speakers, positioned a few meters apart above the prying heads of many that would fill the station in only a few hours. This very sound and others, echoed through the platform, interposed by none except for the very air which greeted them, slowly killing them as they journeyed away. Despite of the hour, a number sauntered here and there, disappearing into the thick mist that masked the platform. The only tangible was the moon which with its light pi...