2005 somewhere in Rio with my house guards wasted.
They called him The Wizard. You didn’t want to be sent to The Wizard.
I left my journal behind. Most nights, guarding embassies by day. I’d started writing everything down because I didn’t know how to deal with it all.
That journal was real. My guilt. My anger. Names. Ranks. Dates. Things I saw while guarding secrets. Thoughts I wasn’t supposed to have. I wasn’t trying to publish. I was trying to survive.
But I fucked up.
Left it behind and the next thing I know, I’m back stateside. Ninety-day psych hold.They said they needed to make sure I wasn’t unstable. That I wasn’t leaking secrets.
They never said the word traitor. They didn’t have to.
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