Photo prompt - © Jennifer Pendergast
During the day he kept himself busy with odds and ends he had collected. But after
Sunset he would become restless.
He would go to the rooftop to look at the passing by trains.
“Papa must be driving this train?”
“May be?” mother said.
“Will he come home? No?”
“Next month, I think so.”
“He never comes; why can’t he be like others?”
“He is a train driver; trains have to run every day.”
She looked at her little, famished boy and wiped a tear rolling on her withered cheek.
“Should I tell him?” she wondered but remained undecided.