Pensive 'Ren'derings: This time, time will tell…

When disaster strikes or people are hurt, they console each other saying, “Time heals all wounds, give time some time, this too shall pass.” Well, that may be true, but when time itself is wounded, can you guarantee the same? Will I ever heal or be able to move on?

Created in 1887, I am part of a great architectural landmark in a Victorian influenced Gothic revival style. A silent bystander to numerous events since then, I have observed myriad kinds of people in their patience and impatience, happiness and sadness, reuniting with their loved ones or watched them leaved with bated breath while embarking on a long journey. I have been a spot of convergence for thousands of people. With just a glance I fulfil their need, so no one really gives me a second look.

One fateful night in 2008, was so gruesome that it can still make me miss a beat. Though I was disregarded as a witness, I, too, have a story to tell. Two young men walked in to the passenger hall nonchalantly and started firing at people with their AK-47 rifles. They didn’t seem to care who collapsed under their gunfire. Those who ducked or tried to escape succumbed to grenades. As my hands struck each of those 75 minutes of gunfire, I witnessed more than 50 people fall lifeless with over a 100 injured. Those 75 minutes were the hardest to tick by. They turned this architectural landmark into a landmark of a massacre.

I watched while a little girl was shot in her leg, crippling her for life. I watched while people breathed their last and still begged their loved ones to hold on and not give up. And I watched while those two men continued to strike them down without remorse, regardless whether man, woman or child. In that mayhem, I witnessed a glimpse of humanity when a railway announcer saved lives by alerting passengers to leave. I watched while the terrorists used every minute of the police’s inaction to their advantage. I watched while the bullets engraved their marks into the walls of this tremendous structure. I watched the floors covered in blood.

Though my hands kept moving, time seemed to stand still for every victim. Later, I watched the limp bodies of those unfortunate, unsuspecting people being carried away from that bloodbath. The blood was mopped away; the wounded walls plastered; the videos wiped clean. They have been replaced with new trains, new people and new journeys while I still relive those memories with every tick.

A silent spectator, a timekeeper, I will have to do the job I was made and meant to do. I’ll just keep ticking away. I will never be able to forget the misfortune I witnessed, but I realize it is finally time for me to unravel and rewind back to those terrifying hours in 2008.

If you listen closely you might feel those seconds in every second.