• She was one of those you would recognize first even in a large crowd, a tiny drab isle of pale skin and tousled brown hair, alone amidst so many and so much; Tennyson’s lonely Lady in Camelot.


    She passed like a shadow when she moved about the schoolyard, a small forgotten ghost among a throng of jostling adolescents. To her classmates, she was just another something that sat in a desk, answered “Present” during roll call and hoped in vain for the best toys at recess. To her teachers, she was just another someone’s child, another empty vessel for numbers, names and dates, another little being to be held responsible for. Even to her parents, she was just their “daughter”.

    But to herself, she was Eva the Warrior Princess, Eva the Daring Explorer, Eva the Brave Soldier Wounded in Battle.

    Eva, the Imaginer.

    Her world was unlike any others. It was a world of endless possibility, a world of vibrant color, a world of intrigue and exhilaration. However, it was also a world of her very own, as well as a very silent one.
    She had tried, various times before, to explain this place to those around her. She felt selfish; its glory instilled within her such gratification and awe that she felt it ought to be shared with others. Nevertheless, her classmates paid no heed to her words, left her, disinterested, with her tales of magical worlds and dangerous situations. Her teachers, intolerant, reprimanded her for being daydreaming, for not paying attention to the things that mattered, things like reality and the future. That girl! They huffed and puffed, irritated. Her parents, being parents, just worried. It’s only a phase. They said, wringing their hands.
    Thus ultimately, she was Eva, Alone.

    As she grew, silence was her constant companion, as was a pencil, and a small red notebook, in which she painstakingly recorded her many adventures. Her classmates observed her with quiet but short-lived curiosity, her teachers observed her with a shake of their head. That girl. They said, muttered, whispered. Her parents, being parents, just worried. It’s only a phase. They said, wringing their hands.

    Her name was Eva. Wintertime was her favorite time of the year. She relished the brisk cold, the promise of snow. She didn’t mind the shorter days either; the night was her time, because daylight meant school and interaction and misunderstanding. She preferred the company of her notebook, a nice warm drink, and a secluded, cushioned corner, where she could build her walls of words around her unhindered and unchallenged. Her classmates no longer paid attention to her, her teachers just gave up. Her parents, being parents, were exasperated, but let her alone.
    And so she was Eva, Alone.