Home

Ezra whimpered. He was scared. These people, the ones he was supposed to help, they hated him. Not all, but many. Enough to make him want to go back home. Or was this home now? To Ezra it didn’t feel like home. To him it felt almost like a prison, but with crueler people who would love to watch him suffer, to watch him hang, as they had done to the effigies.

Ezra was called out of his self-pitying by his captain.

“Man up! Chin tall!” came the barking order. Ezra did as he was told, struggling not to flinch from the higher ranking officer nor passer-by who wanted him dead.

No matter how tough he acted, he knew he was at these people’s mercy. How they chose to house him, how they chose to feed him. His basic needs relied on people who would rather not be generous. People who would rather he be lying six feet under than on their floor. Although he tried his best to keep whoever housed him happy, the situation itself infuriated them, and having Ezra around only made it worse, their hostility became palpable.

“Good. You are all charged to a certain area with your new group. I will call out your name with the troop.”

Ezra was hardly paying attention, focusing more on his surroundings, trying to get a feel for this new town. Boston, Massachusetts was notorious for their revolts against their home country, and Ezra could simply not figure out why. Passer-by watched them like a circus, wary and most certainly intrigued.

In the back of his mind, he registered that the troops were all being assigned, and halfheartedly he listened for his name. The list of troops went on. Was Boston truly so big that they had to have this many soldiers here? Nearing the end of the lists, Ezra started to worry that he had missed his name being called. Unsure, he placed his full attention onto the general.

“Last troop. Baker, Jeremiah. Brown, Alexander….” The names continued. “Miller, Ezra.” Finally, he heard his name. He zoned out again until they were assigned the area they were supposed to patrol.
“Those who I just called, they are to patrol and enforce laws on Main Street, in this city of Boston, Massachusetts.”

No one moved, forcing themselves to stay silent, to not discuss the hostility they would face, to not move before they were dismissed.

Ezra already knew what to expect, having previously been assigned to Second Street. Main Street couldn’t have been much worse, although the areas to stay would be more out of the way, unless someone would allow him a room at the inn, but, if what he heard was true, someone would most undoubtedly poison his food so he would fall sick, or worse.

“You are dismissed. Go to your assigned area, more details, such as where you will be staying, will be given there.”

Immediately, chatter erupted. Voices asked how they were going to handle the occupants. Many wanted to have the sense of entitlement, and so would ask, then if they did not receive, force them to do as they asked. The thought of this made Ezra upset, you don’t deal with an unruly country by forcing it to do things. It only increases the hostility, making everything even worse.

On his way to Main Street, only a few streets over, Ezra tried to think of ways to help make his, and those who would be forced to house him, lives easier. He could try and stay in an inn, pay for it himself, but the army pay wasn’t much, and he still had to consider the fact he most likely would be poisoned. He could try to live on the streets, but that was simply disgraceful, to both his nation and himself. And that left option three. His only real option left. He could try and charm them. Perhaps Ezra could convince the occupants he wasn’t so bad. That he wouldn’t try and ruin their way of life. That he could, and would, help them with whatever tasks he could as long as he wasn’t on duty.
With a plan along those lines started formulating in his head, he made his way to Main Street, thinking exactly how this was going to go.