The soldiers are marching again, with the heavy sound of drums quick to follow.
Everyone in the town who knows what is coming stays silent and tries to hide, praying that they won't stop here, in Woodson.
And it's every week now that they pick a new...
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I wake up late in the middle of the night, a cold sweat on my skin, with only a thin blanket to keep me warm.
I am in one of the individual temporary tents that was set up in the middle of the field yesterday, halfway done with our trek to the Hallie base, and the ground is hard as I lay there thinking of nothing.
Where are the bathrooms? I want to ask someone, but there is no one awake around me.
I cringe at the thought that since we are in the middle of traveling, I'll probably have to relieve myself in the woods if there isn't an outhouse.
Groaning softly as I roll off the thin covers below me, I put on my shoes and head outside. Beyond my small tent, nothing can be heard except the chirping of crickets.
Everyone else is asleep.
By the darkness of the sky, it seems that I have awoken around two o'clock in the morning.
I take a deep breath in and out.
It's kind of creepy, the long shadows of stripped birch trees looming over me and the stacks of jagged rocks scattered around the floor of the area. The air itself seems to whisper in my ear as it brushes past my face, so I shiver.
Sometimes, in Woodson, after Andres grew old enough to not be afraid of the dark, I used to go walking through my backyard garden in the middle of the night for some peace and quiet when my brother and father were sleeping. It was a relief to let go of all my expectations, the responsibilities I would be holding every time the sun came up. And in the dark, I would touch the sweet autumn clematis that smelled like vanilla and jasmine, letting the moonlight wash over me like a blessing.
What ever happened to that feeling?
I will never feel that free again.
I sigh with a heavy weight on my heart. Wandering around the quiet camp for a few minutes barefoot, I search for an outhouse not wanting to go to the bathroom in the open.
Nimbly, I tip toe around the women's tents, then past the men's. I've probably walked over a mile already, still searching for a bathroom. My feet crunch on the grassy carpet below me, and in the distance I think I hear people talking.
Should I approach them?
Deciding it's best not to get lost, I follow the sounds of laughter. About fifty feet to my left there is an orange light spitting ash into the air deeper into the edge of the woods. A bonfire, I realize as I creep up cautiously behind bushes, foolishly afraid of being in the dark wilderness on my own.
I don't alert them of my presence right away as I peek out over the brush. Three men are gathered around a fire, talking secretively.
