The night tube was home to some of the city’s strangest, most eccentric and free thinking beings. Their appearance sometimes mystified passing commuters and baffled the old, but intrigued the young. They were a group of people, gifted with the ability to just be, well themselves, they did not care how they appeared to others and brushed off any judgment they did not deem worthy of listening to. And that happened to be all strangers.
She admired them.
They could do what she had never been able to do. Freely express, wellherself, to be at one with her own needs and desires, to love and create, to dance and sing even if she sounded awful and to dress however she pleased. There are some things she has improved in and her self-awareness is far better than it had been years ago, she’s able to stand up for herself and defend herself, it is not lack of confidence, more rather a fear of setting the beast free.
Being herself, was a difficult task, having lost who she was – the war had taken that from her.
The war had changed her and fighting on the frontlines had utterly destroyed her outlook on humanity. Herself, was who she had been when her battle buddy had laughed in the face of fire, herself, was who she had been watching him smile and hand water to her, herself, had been when she protected him and tended to his wounds, herself, had been watching him die.
She didn’t have her old sense of self.
That had disappeared, as had her innocence and wonder, washed away in years of training, blood, sweat and tears. Who she was now, was someone entirely different. She could barely look in the mirror. The hollow eyes that stared back at her frightened her. She didn’t recognize herself.
But in the night crawlers, in the free spirits, she saw a glimmer of the hope she had once held. She holds onto that and she hopes that one day, that life and spark they had, would seep into her beating heart and set her on fire again.