photo taken by @wakeupkitty
The Uniform
They say that the greatest, most persistent fear happens before we are even aware of it. Like a bullet, it hits the brain and triggers a reaction. Consciousness cannot even dream of keeping up with the pace.
I have only a fleeting memory of my first encounter with the uniform and the international inscription POLI-something. Back then, long ago, I was still a good man - a good child. At least I was trying to be.
The uniform asked, what am I smoking, where did I get it and if I know the law?
Then we drove off. He drove me.
The second time was very similar.
But the third time he drove me further. He assured me that I would also stay longer. The atmosphere in the police van was relaxed. Uniforms in the front seats were joking, but I was not in on the joke ... I was the joke.
"You're ours now. We know you now. We know when and where to look for you."
Laughter.
"You have chosen your side."
Soon after that, I stopped trying. Good man? Kant's fiction.
All of that was a long time ago. Everything has changed. If the uniform on the bus knew who I am, where I'm going and what for, he'd at least flinch. It really shouldn't be the other way round.
I breathe in.
Everyone knows where the bus goes, but no one knows my last stop.
I breathe out.
The uniform is finnaly done checking us out, so he apologises and walks off the bus.
"Have a nice day!" he mutters.
In a strange way, fear has reminded me that I am no longer afraid. I am free. Freer than the uniform could ever dream of being.
"Have a freaking glorious day, sir!"