bluebell barnes. 11. 9th.

Looking out of this train window watching my world - and someone else's, far from my own - go by, and I'm strangely content with it all. I know who I am: Blue, Bell, Barnesey, Bluey, Mail Girl, Postie. And everything in-between.

Yeah, I know I almost threw up on the stage when the called, but I also know that I saw familiar faces from town turn crestfallen with their hands on their hearts. Mister Arborage from the post shop takin' his hat off and clutching it to his chest. I know what that means - that who I am is good. What I am, however small and insignificant in the grand scheme of this, is good and kind. And I know that's not going to change when this train stops, when the dress me up, when they put a weapon in my hand.

I'll still be me. I'll still be me - I'll show them that.