A Story Of A Short Story

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For about five minutes he ran after the bus carrying his massive tin trinket, only then the driver slowed down a bit. No, not stopped, just slowed down a bit; maybe making the poor country folks run after the bus remained the only entertainment in his boring, balding life. Anyway, he somehow climbed inside the bus and had no complaints whatsoever. After all it was only his fault not to reach the bus stop on time. Also, the excitement of travelling to the capital town after three years made him quickly forget his torturous sprint. The conductor motioned him to march forward. In the packed bus, he could only find a few familiar faces. Like him, the country folks hardly adventured out of their tiny hamlet. The last time he boarded the bus it was half empty; the bus driver and the conductor used to always complain to the authorities to cut down the service from twice a week to once a week. However, it all transformed three years back. The government and the company had a deal to build a hydro-project on the holy river. The elders were strictly against it and they formed a protest group. Some of them even sat on hunger strike in the capital in vain: the reason for his last trip. Soon the company arrived, bringing with it tons of men and machine. Slowly, the group was dismantled. However, the project had its positives too: local youth found employment, people got money from their useless tracts of land that fell under the project area, and most importantly there

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