I get off the busy train and take a deep breath. Ah, the fresh sensation of wind – the baby steps of nature make me feel like I am truly living. There is nothing much here, only the shining sun, the blowing wind and falling leaves. I keep my eyes wide open to count the falling leaves. Why are they falling? Why do they turn yellow? Ah, now I realise, autumn is coming. Is it not obvious enough? The sky being more crowded and the sun playing more hide and seek are just enough to prove it. Yet, when people live in a giant city, most of them do not care about how the weather is changing. What is the point of doing so, if their lives are one way or another the same? Life in a big city is like people rushing onto the subway. One, in order to survive, has no choice but to follow the flow, or else one will be crushed. Life is also a current. If one swims along the current, one survives. If one swims against the current, one dies. I do not want to die, but I do not want to just survive either. I want to live. That is why I returned to this place. Returned home. My so-called only home. The place I have sworn never to come back. And now, here I am. To finally regain peace in my shambled mind? I do not know.

I sit on the bench, looking at the scenery. It feels as if I am both a stranger to this strange land and the long-lost child of my hometown at the same time. I look to my right. A soft breath caresses my ears. Golden strands of hair enter my vision. An exquisite scent fills up my sense of smell. There She is. The most silent Goddess I have ever seen. She, just like me, admires the greenery. Her gorgeous aquamarine eyes were born to induce others to die in return of one pity stare. She is holding a sketchbook in Her lap, wide open, full of unfinished works. Then I see pictures. Of trains. Trains that pass this station every day, I believe. Black-and-white pictures. Definitely not everyone's favourite. But all of them remain unfinished. That is right. No trains ever stand still for the artist to finish his or her work. Not in this case, either. Not for my Goddess. Not for anyone.

The next day, I sit on the same bench. And so does She. We repeat the things we did yesterday, me looking at Her and Her looking at the green space. The fragant smell of Hers somehow reminds me of my mother. She died a few years ago. I chose not to come to her funeral. I try not to think about that very often. Then I decide to shift my focus onto Her. I see Her right hand move the pencil on a new piece of paper. She starts sketching. I look at my watch, it is five o'clock in the afternoon. There should be a train about to pass this station any minute now. As expected, the train gradually comes into sight and a few minutes later, it stops in front of us. Person after person gets off, each of them has a different facial expression. Yet none of their faces leaves any impression on me, as if they were all covered with thick layers of fog. I hear whispers that nearly destroy Mother Nature's marvellous concert. I shiver receiving cold gazes from those mere "acquaintances". We may have passed one another without noticing, we may have chatted in pubs but cannot recollect. That is why we are mere "acquaintances". Why are they glaring at me? Do they know me? Do I know them? I look to my right. My Goddess is gone.

Autumn arrives. She lays elegant footsteps on the train station, marked by heaps of leaves. Yellow leaves fall thicker and thicker, yet beautiful as ever. My Goddess is still sketching as usual, but this time, she uses the colour of autumn – red, yellow and orange. The trains now blend into the scenery, unfinished and abandoned. I shiver. Not because of the wind's adorable kiss, obviously. I turn around then return to my Goddess. I sense an indifferent gaze, but no one except us is here. I would surely die of elation were it from my Goddess, but I am just being ridiculous. Or maybe it is just Mother Nature observing my foolishness and finding it impossile to refrain herself from laughing out loud. I hear small creaks coming from the roof. I wonder if this train station will ever be renovated. The noise of something falling attracts my attention. Definitely not leaves. It is something else. A dead pigeon. It lies on the ground, eyes on me. I hear it whisper my name. The bell from a nearby church rings turbulently, waking up something deep inside me.

The space is now filled with yellow leaves. It is as though I am about to be drown in the sea of leaves. My Goddess is drawing a new picture; red, yellow and orange are everywhere in it. Her right hand moves faster and faster. One. Two. Three. I hear three sounds of falling. Three dead pigeons lie on the ground, eyes on me. I begin to tremble. The roof creaks louder and starts falling apart. Leaves fall all over my body and my Goddess. But She keeps drawing. I decide to keep looking at her. Then everything turns red. I feel wet. A sticky, thick liquid appears in my palm. This smell... My Goddess stops colouring. She turns to me, her red lips make an infallible curve. I look at her finished picture. Everything is covered with red. I look at my hand. That is why I shivered.

"It's time to wake up." She said.

"Is this story even real?" I sniff at the tour guide then shift my gaze to the rusty train.

"Oh yes ma'am, I swear. That man used to have serious schizophrenia disorder. None of the kids in our town dare to get near this place. It's haunted." He whispers in fear.

"Interesting." I smile. Very interesting. Very.