The soldier had been watching me for a long time before I even realized he was there. He stood silent, a camouflaged blur among the splotches of trees and sunlight. My eyes travelled slowly up to his face, my neck prickling with fear. I knew I shouldn’t have gone off exploring alone.
His eyes didn’t flicker as he met my gaze. He stood still as a statue, holding his rifle cocked and ready. I wanted to turn and run back to the camp, and tell Mom and everyone to get out of there. But that would be the worst thing to do. My eyes lowered to his feet, hoping against hope that the boots would be the familiar brown leather lace-ups of the army. If he was from the army, I’d be ok.
The boots were black rubber.
Even the birds were still as I looked into his face again, acknowledging silently that I knew who he was. He simply stared back, blank and expressionless.
I nodded slowly, once, twice, three times. We understood. Quietly, I turned and headed back the way I had come, out of the woods, back to innocence. The rest of the day I stayed close to camp and kept a watchful eye on my little brothers. I feigned a headache and urged Mom to return home sooner than usual. We got back home and I wrote in my diary about a pleasant, uneventful day in the mountains.
What? you may ask. You mean you didn’t say anything about the soldier?
I look at you as I answer, and there is something frightening in my eyes.
What soldier? You mean there are guerrillas around here? I never knew that.