Dawn of a New Day
This takes place early in season one.
The air is warm and the sweet smelling wild flowers of the park do nothing but make me want to sneeze. So much for the joys of spring! I wipe the sweat from my brow and turn to speak to my little boy. I stare open mouthed at the empty hand Charlie was supposed to be holding. Fear turns my mouth dry as I turn my head this way and that searching for his blonde head. Nothing! He's gone! Christ, I lost my kid!
Sweat trickles down the small of my back as I run through the park, calling his name. People look at me but move back, shaking their heads, lowering their eyes, pretending they can't see me. Bastards!
"Have you seen my little boy? He's about six years old, and is his name is Charlie." But no one answers me and I can't understand why. Why is when I open my mouth Arabic falls out? I feel as though I am going to be sick as I climb onto a park bench, shielding my eyes against the sun's bright glare.
Tears are streaming down my face because I can't see him, and from nowhere, heavily armed soldiers are marching into our park. They are screaming in a language I know but can't remember why, and then one of them raises his weapons and shoots. The *rat-a-tat-tat* makes my brain explode and I scream until I am hoarse.
"No!! Don't shoot him! He's just a little boy! Charlie!!"
I wake up with a cry, my tee-shirt is soaked with sweat, heart hammering. It takes me a full thirty seconds to realize it was just another dream. I am home safe but not so sound.
My heart is still trying to beat out of my chest as I swing my legs out of bed. Daniel is in the other room and I need to make sure he's okay. I hope my nightmare didn't wake him; he needs to rest, poor kid. He's been through a lot. I push the spare bedroom door open softy, not wanting to wake him, and then hold my breath as I listen for the gentle sound of his breathing. I can just make out his blond hair tousled on the pillow, and his blankets are tangled around him, but he's sleeping peacefully, so I back out again.
It's nearly 4am. I know I won't get back to sleep again now, so I go downstairs to make coffee, see if the sports channel has anything I like. Daniel's notes and books are spread all over the table and for a second I open my mouth to scold him, tell him to get his ass down here and tidy up. But, I then remember he's only six years old, and that's what little boys' do, make god-awful messes for the parents to tidy up.
Daniel's my child now, and his memories of what happened to him on P7X-158 are scattered at best, non existent at worst. That's okay, none of are any clearer, and sometimes it seems like a dream. The village we went to was a sham, a trick, and while Daniel walked there a man he was carried home a small boy. I have these terrible nightmares now, and it's not hard to know why. I lost one child and I'm terrified of losing another.
It's almost time for the sun to rise, and looking outside; I see the summer has started to make way for fall. Seasons change and there is nothing anyone can do about it. The irony of this is wasted on me.