Fear

I'd be lying if I said the London bombings didn't have me concerned.

The gravity of what had happened hadn't sunk in during my morning commute yesterday. Reading the news websites throughout the day, it had taken hold. On the commute home, I was struck by the thought, "It could happen here." I had a moment of irrational fear and angst, scanning around the train wondering, "Who could it be? Are they here" I admonished myself and called myself a pussy, calming shortly aftewards. Glad to see elementary school tactics still work on me. Or should I be worried?

Am I fearful dying? Only a fool would say no. When I'm ready and not a moment before. But it wasn't necessarily of death I was afraid of. It was more of not making a difference. Sure, injure me and hurt me, but so long as there is a shred of life in me, I'll keep fighting. I just don't want to be snuffed out. I want to see death coming and I want to face it. Not die, not knowing. That was what I feared.

As for the uneasiness of riding the train this morning, at least I'm not alone.