Wednesday, in the midst of a workday, yet it seems like the after hours. The dust begins to settle reverberating in the emptiness of the station.
Tickets withheld in the absence of people not rushing to get somewhere. The jewelry counter, immaculate, displays bracelets and necklaces, but there are no eyes lingering to take in their gleam.
The day has stopped.
Drawn away, bodies stand still and hearts soar as minds painfully present themselves before a voice calling for freedom. Souls stir deep inside by a message of hope and love for living in the after hours of a dream.
Copyright © 2013 Shainbird. All rights reserved.
Note: This is for Friday Fictioneers graciously hosted by Rochelle, in exactly 100 words, write a story about the selected photograph. Please check out submissions by Fellow-Fictioneers by clicking on the frog.