The Girl with the Thousand Yard Stare

Ever look into one of your old pictures and feel like you’re staring directly at a stranger? Like you don’t recognize yourself? I’m not talking about not recognizing yourself because you’ve aged, lost or gained weight or because you’ve changed your appearance so much your old self. I’m talking about not recognizing yourself because you don’t see a soul in this image of yours. I don’t mean anything supernatural, just a state that is neither life nor death. Have you ever seen a photo of yourself in such a state?

I’m currently looking at an old photo that was taken during my military service. A photo of four boys in sweat laden, dust-covered uniforms. All four boys look like they haven’t slept for the last week even though it had only been twenty-seven hours without sleep when that photo was taken if I remember correctly. All four tried smiling for the camera but it was clear that they were too worn out for smiles at that moment. All of four of them looked like they had the life sucked out of them. The four boys are my three best friends and me.

That day was a long one, that whole month was a long one. I didn’t even know we all looked this bad. It didn’t feel so bad. You stop feeling exhaustion and to an extent pain after a while. The constant adrenaline that’s coursing through your veins as you anticipate the next attack makes sure to soothe all your bodily worries away.

Humans are really sturdy if you put them under constant pressure. We usually crack only after the pressure stops. I guess you could say many battle-hardened people out there are a glass cannon. We’ve all done unimaginable things in the heat of the moment, but we’ve ended up cracking after weathering the storm.

Anyway, I digress, I was sent the aforementioned photo by a friend of mine, Lucy. Apparently, it popped up on her social media feed and she thought it’s so cool I needed to be reminded of its existence! The funny thing is that this photo reminds me of her and how we’ve met. Lucy and me, we have a special bond. We’ve met by chance; I had never intended to keep in touch with her. She’s a great girl and a great friend now. But during our meeting she was just another person to me, just another face in the crowd of people I’ll never really interact with.

I was still on active duty the day we met. In fact, I was traveling between bases, and here, more often than not, you travel on your own – most likely by public transport. It’s nothing out of the ordinary to see soldiers on public transport or roaming the streets where I live. It’s a part of our lives. Anyway, I was sitting at the bus stop, reading a book as I waited for my bus to arrive.

I was really focused on the book when I noticed people running around, panicking all around me. I called out to one of the men who ran past me, he mumbled something I couldn’t decipher and kept on running. I left my book on my backpack and ran towards what seemed to be the source of the panic.

Across the street from me, I’d say 30 meters ahead of the road there was a man, he was the source of the ruckus.

The man, he was tall, lanky and his skin had a yellow tint to it. He was swinging a massive knife at people while screaming about taking people along with him as a crowd of panicked people tried running away from him. The moment I saw him cut down a child; something inside woke up. Something I didn’t expect to wake up again. A certain gear turned in my head. My vision became tunneled on the man. Everything else was blurred and out of focus. My hearing was focused only on what he was saying, everything else became a sort of muffled and distant. I was completely focused on the knife swinging maniac. I ran a few meters towards the murderous man and screamed at him to drop his knife and get on his knees.

There were no other law enforcement officials there at that moment.

The man, he didn’t listen.

I warned him again that I am going to shoot him.

He didn’t listen.

My ears rang as I pulled the trigger of my rifle.

The man’s body went spinning in the air with a small trail of blood fly behind his now limp carcass. The man’s body crashed onto the concrete with a thud and people began panicking even more after hearing a gun being shot.

I hadn’t felt anything at that moment. I was detached from it all. The only thing I had in mind was neutralizing the threat to the civilians around me. I yelled out to the masses around us to stay away from the body.

Something inside me told me this was not over yet, and indeed it was not.

I remember seeing him move; he shouldn’t have been able to. I shot him dead center in the chest. Alas, adrenaline is a scary thing; I’ve heard a story of a man being shot by a police officer a full magazine full of bullets, dropping seemingly dead before leaping back at the officer once the latter within arm's reach and fatally stabbing him in the neck. Anyway, the knife-wielding man moved. It was a slight movement, a little maneuver of his arm.

Then, time quite literally froze. I remember seeing a bright flash of light coming from the carcass of the man I just shot down. One that slowly expanded in all directions reminiscent of a tiny mushroom.

I turned myself to jump on the ground and cover my, I was mostly concerned with shrapnel. When I turned, vitals and, that’s when I saw her - frozen in shock. It was Lucy. I still remember the way she looked that day, she was dressed in all black dress with matching boots and gloves. I didn’t know her at the time. I didn’t really care who she was. All I knew is that I wanted to make sure she doesn’t get hurt, so I barked at her to fall and jumped on top of her to cover her with my body. It was instinct.

The passage of time resumed with the thunder-clap produced by an explosive belt going off.

I swear on my mother’s name. I could see a chunk of the suicide bomber laying not far from me. It was bloody piece of skin and muscle mass that landed far too close for comfort.

For the record, I couldn’t know he had an explosive belt on him. it was thought it was something as thin as a weight belt or something of that sort.

Turns out he wasn’t that much of a maniac really, he planned to go out with a bang. Apparently, he had terminal liver cancer and was told no treatment could save him, only prolong his life for a while. I guess he was driven to the brink by the idea of the encroaching premature doom. That's why he decided to take vengeance against the system he thought didn’t do enough to help him by blowing up innocent bystanders in a bustling street.

Humans are such a fragile little thing.

Speaking of, after the bomb went off and the dust settled, I remember looking up at Lucy, asking if she was alright and all. She clearly wasn’t all there and quite frankly, the look on her face caught me off guard. I’ll admit this much; her empty stare sent chills down my spine. She was just staring, shaking, and mindlessly nodding at whatever I said. I made sure she got medical attention, and I was sure I’d forget about her existence once she got inside the ambulance after the whole ordeal.

She sought me out sometime later and we’ve ended up being friends. Now, why am I bringing all of this up? Because this same unnerving stare Lucy had the day I've met her. My friends and I all have that same expressionless stare in the photo she had sent me. I’m so glad she didn’t have to go through what I had gone through. What took but a moment to temporarily break her took weeks of fighting a war to do the same to me. I’m not saying this to boast some sort of psychological resilience or to say that she is weaker than I am, no. I am definitely messed up in the head. No doubts about that. I’m just saying I’m glad Lucy didn’t have to witness or cause as much death as I had to. She is too good for that kind of stuff.

Anyway, I think I’ll just reply to her saying, “The photo reminds me of a girl I’ve met a long time ago, she took had the thousand-yard stare.”