The pitch-black darkness that covers my eyes slowly turns brighter as light seeps through my eyelids in the morning. My warm bed under my body and a blanket over me. The smell of porridge encapsulates me. My tongue salivates in its misery as porridge somehow seems foreign to me. It dances in anticipation.

Mom’s voice soothes me. “Pierre, wake up. Have something to eat. Take your antibiotics for the gun wound that you had in your training.”

She ...