Chapter 19

Lady Sylvia gasped.

“Your..father? How is that so? This journal is 200 years old. You look as though you have not reached thirty years, and you say this belonged to your father?”

“You’re right, it’s crazy…” I said. But the handwriting definitely belonged to him. He would always curl his ‘T’s like the ones on the inside cover. The journal shivered in my hands like a handful of dry ice.

I grasped for the arm of the bench next to me and slumped down onto it. Lady Sylvia wordlessly sat next to me. I tentatively turned the page and began to read.

First deployment - Morocco, Day 1

I’ve heard a thousand beautiful things about the city of Morocco, but to me they were as intangible as a dream until I saw them with my own eyes.

Its turrets and flat, crenellated rooftops speak of ancient design, but the city proper is bathed in many shades of the most abstract and modern blues, whites, and tans. Dainty, fledgling palms drape over the edges of the city. Surrounded by the infinite caress of the coast.

I commented on this to Sinpek who just gave me that devilish smile and said that the city is pretty and all, but it was the Moroccan women that were really worth his attention. He definitely earned his nickname ‘Simp’.

We arrived for guard duty at the U.S. embassy in Rabat, and the wonders didn’t cease! The complex is surrounded by glass walls with the proud American eagle displayed on the front. It even has its own island in the center, with a moat of water and rich gardens.

Things are quiet and peaceful here.

I couldn’t turn the page fast enough.

First deployment - Morocco, Day 25

We intercepted an I.E.D just outside the embassy, thankfully before it blew us to oblivion. Things are tense.

Our counterintelligence thinks the Red Stars are behind this. They’ve been increasingly vocal about wanting to drive the US out of Morocco, and this recent act of attempted violence would prove it, but we can’t make any accusations without proof.

We take shifts on watch duty but it’s not good sleep.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I briefly detected I was alone on the bench. I kept reading.

XXX-XXX, Day 48?

In a million lifetimes I couldn’t imagine writing what I am now. So much has happened, and there hasn’t been enough time to process it all.

I woke up to the sounds of an explosion, then walls of glass shattering. Alarms blared. Simp ran out the door. In a few seconds I was racing behind him in the corridor. We heard shouting up ahead in Berber. “Clear them out!”

Simp turned the corner and engaged, firing into the hallway with his M250 machine gun. He cursed and drew back. We stood shoulder to shoulder.

“Red Stars.” Simp cursed. “I see ten. Lieutenant Grange is taking pot shots at range. We’re the front line.” He tossed a grenade down the hallway. The boom shook the building. The already weakened section of hallway collapsed, and cut us off from our attackers. More shouting from both sides.

We continued straight down the corridor, past the blocked-off hallway to our right. We darted into a room and aimed out each doorway, as a choke point to keep the terrorists away from the diplomat rooms.

Simp took out one, then two. I shot at one that ran past us. One bullet hit his leg, but he kept running. I realized with horror he had a bomb strapped to his chest. He ran up the stairs. I chased after him. Simp was yelling my name. I had a clear line of sight. I took the shot. I ran through the room as I saw him drop, and then…

And then all I saw was white. I quickly shut and opened my eyes. Only blinding light as far as I could see. A flash-bang? Where was the ‘bang?’ I held my gun at the ready. I was in a room of white. No, more like an ocean of white. Was I there for minutes? Days? I don’t know.

All I remember is, I started to sing. A lullaby I sang to the kids when they were younger:

“And when I’m feeling a-lost and a-lonely, a-light the way…”

The words blurred on the page. I blinked out tears as I finished the song.

“A-light the way…”

I wiped the salty streams away, determined to finish the entry.

I started to see muted colors swirl around me. They grew more distinct in a thousand brilliant shades. I heard the rustling of leaves and the sound of lapping water. A sight more beautiful than Morocco could ever be stood before me.

The sun, no, suns, like interlocking rings of promise blazed in the sky. Corkscrew trees stood over a shimmering lake. I knew I wasn’t dead. Somehow, by some kind of magic, I stood on the shore of another world.”

Anger untethered from my heart. My dad was gone. Two-hundred years gone. It wasn’t his fault. The deep rage I felt towards my dad for years began to wash away. There was nothing left to fuel it, revealing the true nature of the emotions swirling underneath. My heart wrenched. My knees hit the hard cobblestone path.

I wailed like the day I was born.