Army of one


I am an army of one.

Then again, if I think about it, I am part of an army of thousands, hundreds of thousands, even millions. The only thing is, we all hide in our houses or apartments, or in backrooms, guest rooms, spare rooms, caravans, or homes for the mentally unstable. Some of us keep watch at night, and only go to bed when other people wake up. Some of us keep more regular hours. Sometimes we recognise each other on the street, sometimes not. Some of us have beards; some of us just have a head full of unkempt hair. We are men, and we are women. Some of us are rich; some of us will always be poor. Some own houses, and some only own the shirts on their backs. Some are known to millions; some don’t even always remember their own names.

We – are the Army of One.