Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating

- « Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.»

O. Henry

The noise of arriving and departing trains, the hum of human voices, sometimes growing louder, sometimes fading away—it creates an atmosphere of bustle. That's how it always is at railroad stations. Often, they become a shelter for lonely souls like myself. I can't remember how long I've been here. Hours? Days? It feels like years have passed. There isn't a creature in the world that has suffered from loneliness more than I have.

I stood there, my heart was heavy with a mix of confusion and abandonment. The noisy crowd around me hurriedly moved past, their eyes focused on their destinations. The station echoed with the clatter of footsteps and the rumble of departing trains, drowning out the sound of my silent neighing.

Sometimes, unpleasant and ill-mannered individuals passed by me. There was the boy, about 10 years old, who initially chased pigeons but then shifted his gaze towards me and came closer. He made a silly face and said I was ugly. What pain! What humiliation! I was tempted to kick him with my hoof, but I changed my mind. Surely, he will feel ashamed when he realizes that a horse is far more well-mannered than he is.

Time kept passing, and I remained alone. Will I have to stay here until the end of my days? Loneliness was mixed with the fear. With an incredible pain in my heart, I recalled those days when I freely galloped through fields, traveling with my owner. This is what one of those journeys led to. Here I stand, abandoned and forgotten by everyone. I never asked my owner where we were going; I was simply glad to feel the wind stroked my skin as I picked up speed. I was called "Dancer" because my gallop through the fields resembled a dance. What's the use of talking about it? Now I'm nothing more than a prisoner of this railroad station.

The world around me moved in a chaotic symphony - strange faces, strange sounds, and strange scents. A little woman in a pink dress, wearing a milky-colored hat on her head, passed by me, her eyes were red from tears. I understood her perfectly. I cried too, but no one noticed my tears. To everyone, I was just a horse.

Horrible thoughts filled my mind. I had almost lost hope when suddenly I heard a familiar voice. My owner! I neighed and lit up with happiness. Two men were with her, one of them clearly fond of indulging in a drink or two, if you know what I mean.

The men escorted us to the ferry. My owner and I set off for home. Something changed in her face, as if she had just realized something important. Or maybe it was just my imagination. All my troubles were behind me, behind the tree to which I was tied.

I never asked my owner where we were going, but perhaps from now on, I should.