The Next Morning
By habit and a series of nightmares, I awoke at the crack of dawn. I tried to move, but the once-cold cot became a cozy entrapment to my body. For a few minutes, I sat in paralysis, internally battling with myself to leave the comfort of the cot.
Though it took mental effort, I willed myself out of bed and proceeded to the tent's entrance. When I stood up, a bout of dizziness assailed my mind. I stumbled and had to stabilize myself by placing an arm on the bed.
My mind pounded, and my stomach painfully squirmed with nausea. 'Damn alcohol,' I griped.
My stomach rumbled with hunger on my way out. The only thing I'd consumed the day prior were several servings of that gut-burning alcohol and some small bits of bread. If I wanted to be at all useful, I had to get something in my stomach.
In my pursuit of breakfast, I pushed the tent's flaps forward, revealing the warm embrace of the day's first light and the sight of two stationed guards.