Taron
Taron sits at the edge of the train line burrows, where a small stream meets the mouth of the forest and the two wind there languid way down to the brook. In her lap lies a red moleskin notebook with motto’s and sketches scrawled across its ageing pages. Quietly Taron narrates as she writes with passion, “Somewhere along the way between me leaving home and finding myself. Somewhere, I forgot what it was to be normal, whatever normal is. I got so caught up in recovery, in working, in keeping myself motivated, that I lost everything that I used to hold dear. I don’t want to be the person that looks back on their life in thirty years time and has nothing they are proud of. When I was eight I wanted to somehow get up there, among the stars in the sky. As far away as I could possibly get from my shitty coastal life… I went through a faze of praying every night before I went to sleep, because I stupidly thought that I would somehow find the answers I was looking for in a mystical man in the sky... But he never answered, and so I forgot about him. Decided instead to internalise my feelings, to try to suffocate the voices in my head. And now here I am twelve years later, going quietly insane in a world that won’t stop to let me get off.” The cigarette she has been smoking has now burned down to nothing and she flicks it away into a nearby dandelion.