I stood there. I stood there, soaked with the thick, unforgiving rain, anonymously rolling down my brazen cheeks. My skin was cold; the passing of the forcefully depressing breeze gave it no mercy. The hope in my weary eyes darkened in synch with the sour clouds colliding above my head.

“Why?” I hopelessly questioned myself. I stared nondescriptly into the valley lying before my blackened feet. Blackened. We were, and are all blackened. Not even the salt of nature’s wrath could scrub clean the sins of our fathers, nor the sins of ourselves. Acadie was the blackened cesspool of man’s trivial turmoils.

“Why?” Again I tortured myself incessantly. Demanding pathetically an answer I knew I would not soon receive.

As my gaze shot across the tainted panorama, tears welled in my spent eyes. To my right, the comfort of Fort Edward’s decaying timber was present no more. For the entirety of my humble life, the blockhouse had been a sentinel, protecting my wavering sense of community. Now it was no more. I still can feel the rotten lumber of its ancient walls hitting my drenched sneakers; as I waded the best I could through the waters that reached the top of a hill nearby where it once stood.

Now my mind is undeservingly haunted for eternity, by that day. It’s maniacal events constantly replaying. A hideous curse, upon the souls of all in the Valley. I stand here, reminiscing tempestuously. Wondering why they returned at all, after so many years. Yet another “why?” to ask myself. A deluge of any sort is never really welcomed warmly. But what happened was extreme.

When the rescue boat arrived, I froze. Denying persistently that it was there to help. Although I never really had any captors of any kind, my mind was a hostage to those terrible events, regrettably spawned by the acts of my forefathers.

“Sir!” I remember a man yelling to me from the rescue boat, “You over there! We’re from the Government of Canada. We’re here to help you.” The monotone voice tried to comfort.

I was still frozen, not responding at all. My shock was an excruciating setback. I forced myself to yell back to the man dressed in a yellow rain-suit.

“Let me on! Help me!” My jaws chattered, partly shivering.

The boat sped over to the hill I carefully stood on; the water surrounded me. The man and some others, I remember, pulled me onboard the motorboat. The pounding of helicopter blades above and around me still performs in my head to this day.

When on that government boat, they tried talking to me, unsuccessfully. I couldn’t hear them. Only shrieks and the sound of sobbing tearfully filled my ears. I interrupted the man, saying only, “Is it over?” I can still feel the warm, industrial blanket being draped over my then twitching shoulders.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” The man in the rain-suit sheepishly replied.