November 27, 1968

I wake up, remembering the letter that was delivered to my house last night.  The day I dreaded was finally here.  I knew what was inside that letter, but that still did not prepare me.  The letter was sitting on the kitchen table.  I stared at it, and decided to open it, and it read, “Greetings, Marcus Indigo.  You have been drafted into the United States Military.  Your basic training starts on April 1, 1978 in Fort Hood, Texas.”  I remembered what happened to my father, and realized my worst fear was coming true.

April 1, 1968

I have landed in Houston, and I go to the address that was stated on the letter I received a week ago.  I arrive at the training camp, and am told that dinner is at five, and that I will be receiving my uniform right after.  I am rushed into the initiation room, and after a small assembly, I am told that I have to shave off my hair.  The feeling was finally setting in that some of us would not be going home.

April 5, 1968
My fifth day here, and I even though I have already made enemies, I am excelling here.  I have been able to make sure that I stay at the top of the board.  I am
one of the best recruits, and my sergeant is telling me that if I keep doing so well, I may be able to be a sergeant myself. 
 
April 8, 1968
I am surrounded by doctors, and my eyesight is hazy.  People keep entering and exiting this room, and looking down at my arms, I see a lot of wires.  Looking to my right and left, I see machines, that I suppose are keeping me alive.  My head starts throbbing, and I hear the machines start beeping loudly.  A team of doctor’s run inside, and then I am swallowed by a sea of darkness.
I sense that something is going to go wrong, but I do not know what.  Maybe it’s the lunch that was given to us.  The sky is darkening, my hands are shaking. Is this what Dad might have felt like just before he died? Knowing that something will go wrong, but mot able to know what? I feel a chill run down my neck as I slowly turn around.  A masked man is pulling something out of his sweatshirt. 
“Stop!  Who the ---- are you?”  I yell.
He takes out his gun. And starts shooting.  I see that he is aiming at the sergeant, so I run.  I fall to the ground, and the pain I am feeling is immense.  I hear people telling me not to close my eyes, but I do not listen to them.
  
April 12, 1968
I wake up again, but this time I am not in that dreary hospital room.  I notice that I am in a more familiar setting.  My room.  I decide to get up and right away I go outside. 
I take a deep breathe in of the New Orleans air.  I miss it here.  The last time we came was before dad died.  Before the “accident.”

April 19, 1968
Today I am going to be interviewed by that Army because of the shooting that took place.  I am being told by everyone that I have to stay calm and tell the truth because they will know if I am lying.  I get up to enter the room, once I am summoned. 
“Marcus Indigo.  If you follow me, I will take you to the room where you will be interviewed.  I follow him through long winding hallways that seem like there is no end to them. 
“Hello Marcus, my name is Caroline, and I will be interviewing you today about the incident that occurred on the 6 of April, 1968.  Just so you know, we will be recording this interview for future reference.  Are you ready to begin?”
“Sure.  Let’s start and get this over with.”  I respond.
“Okay. Where were you at the time of the shooting?  What were you doing?  Can you recall what happened?”
“I was eating lunch in the café, and I felt like something bad was going to happen.  I remember seeing someone knew that I had never seen before out of the corner of my eye.  I asked him what he was doing there, and he pulled out his gun and started shooting.  Once I saw him aim for the sergeant, I knew that I had to do something, so I jumped in front of the sergeant at the last second.”  
“Is there anything else that you would like to add? she paused. Marcus hesitated. “No? Would you like to release a statement to the press?  I am warning though, that if you do that a light will shine on you, and the world will hail you as a hero.”

April 25, 1968
In the end I did decide to release a statement about what went on, but it was recently discovered that my bullet wound has been infected by a disease that they have not named yet.  The thing is that they have given me a year to live.  Army officials have visited me, and they are the ones that keep me updated on how the search to find my shooter is going.  Today, they have come with the worst news ever. 
“Hello Marcus.  I have come to inform you of how the search is going.  We believe that we have found the shooter.  We only need to ask you one question, so we can confirm a piece of evidence that we believe is true.  Would it be possible for you to take a DNA test today?”
I decide to take the DNA test, and in the next hour, or two, I am called into the room, so the findings are explained to me. 
“Marcus, we are sorry to tell you, but the shooter at the camp was actually your father.  We know that it is on record that he is dead, but would like your permission to dig up his grave, so we can see what is really going on here.”
“How is this possible?” I ask.  “The hospital was the one that pronounced my father’s death, and after they did so, my mom flew out to the base because she was not able to fly his body home because it was a part of an investigation.” 
“I am sorry to say that we do not have all the answers right now, but all we are going to ask of you right now is to come and live in a United States safe house until we get to the bottom of this, because we do not even have a suspect in these attacks.  Think about it.  We do not need an answer until tomorrow.”
I am left sitting in that grey lifeless room, alone deciding my fate. 

April 30, 1968
Five days ago, I decided that I would go live in this so called safe house, and today, I have just been told that I am able to leave, and go wherever I please.  I have packed all of my things, and I am off to the airport.  The Army has requested special protection for me because of everything that has happened these past few days.  I step out of the car, and I hear it before I see anything.  There is the shooter again, who is now known to me as my dad, with the gun in his hand.  I hopelessly fall to the floor.