Hours after the mist had dissipated, Lord Brenden, a close friend of my parents, made a special visit to see me. My birth was a surprise, not only to the whole of Scotland, but to my parents as well. You see, I have older twin brothers, Ian and James, who were married with children of their own by the time I was born. No one except my parents and twin brothers knew I was coming, so Lord Brenden’s visit was quite a surprise.
Lord Brenden brought with him an unusual request of my parents regarding me – that they train me to be Queen. The way that our monarchical system in Scotland works is that when Father passed away, Ian would be King. After Ian, his son, Lachlan, was the next in line. After Lachlan, was my brother James and then his son, Eoin. I was fifth in line for the throne. The possibility that I would rule was highly unlikely. Nonetheless, my parents agreed.
He watched the two bodies fall to the ground. As he knelt beside them, he thought of his father’s infectious laughter, the laughter he would never hear again. He thought of his mother’s sweet, sensitive smile, the smile that would never again comfort him. His thoughts turned to the men who had come. They were no different than anyone else who had come in. They had gotten in an argument with his parents over something. His three year old tried to comprehend what the men had asked his parents. What had they said?? Now, as he looked at his parents, lying there in the dust, he remembered. They was wanted his parents to recount. His parents knew how to count, didn’t they??? As his tears fell to the ground, wondering why they hadn’t, he heard the sound, the sound would come to fear: the cock of a gun.
“Noooooooooooo!!!” Shaking and sweating, Morat sat straight up. He looked around him, the stench of decaying flesh, rotting garbage, and feces reminded him almost instantly where he was: Deadman’s Alley. Noticing that no one was paying any attention to him, he stood up and walked to the street, if you could call it that. The sun was just barely coming up, and already the marketplace was getting busy.
The night was dark, the stars were my only guide. My only thoughts were on my father’s last words: “Tell all you know. Jesus must be known to all, especially our leader. May God be with him.” I paused at the corner of the building, tears streaming down my face as I thought of my father. I checked the street for any enemies and seeing none ran for the alley across the way. Hidden just in the shadows, were some boxes which announced their presence when my knees ran into them, causing me to stumble to the ground. My tears were still flowing as I sat on the ground.
My father, not quite dead for a whole day, had already left behind a coward for a son. “Tell our leader,” he had said and yet when I was face-to-face with him, I ran. I ran out of fear, fear of myself, fear of our new leader, but more importantly, fear of dying. Fear controlled my every thought and my every action.
The sun was just beginning to show his colors as I took another look around me. Already, the decisions made by our new leader had reached this small town. Memories of what had been shone like the newly risen sun in comparison to the bleakness of what was now. My fear was turning to anger as I thought of all that had happened. From my father’s death in Mexico and the slaughter of millions of my people fueled an anger in me I didn’t even know I had. “Castro can burn in hell for all I care,” I thought bitterly. The thought startled me. Was I really this full of hatred?? And yet, my father had told me to forgive the man who forced my father out of our home when I was 9. Forgive the man who ultimately forced my mother’s death and my father’s apparent suicide and even worse, let him know about Christ. “Forget it,” I reasoned, “Castro’ll kill you as soon as he knows who you are. Whose son you were. God knows, having faith is easier when nothing is wrong.