It was about four years ago in MCRD Parris Island, South Carolina. The blistering cold of Spring was finally coming to its end, only to bring the fires of hell called summer to the small island that was my home for those next few months. One night, the scribe informed me that I had firewatch between the late hours of midnight to 3am. It was one of the worst shifts to be assigned because sleep was always a struggle, trying to find comfort and peace until it was your turn to stand watch. Midnight slowly made its way, dragging me out of the comfort of my bed into the night I had been dreading for the last few sleepless hours. Now, as I take my post, all I can do is sit in the enormous semi-lit room so I could look in at the darkened surroundings, and all the recruits who were fast asleep, dreaming about home.

The first few hours lazily crept their way through the quiet night, smoothly when I noticed one of the girls, who slept on left side, the third bunk on the bottom, get up from their bed. She casually tilted her head to me to indicate she was heading toward the bathroom before she disappeared behind the black flippy doors. I didn’t think too much of it as I jotted it down in the logbook, Rt Braggs entered the head at 0130, then signed my initials next to the notation. Afterwards, I let my back lean up against my seat, letting it rock back and forth as I stared up at the pale grey ceiling, counting down the minutes until my shift was over. I don’t quite remember how long it took me to notice, but when I never heard the doors open with a clank, I knew I had to go check up on Braggs to see if she was alright or if she just ended up falling asleep at the toilet.

Moving away from the desk, I headed toward the doors, opening them wide enough for my voice to enter the room. Her name echoed throughout the bathroom, repeating her name over and over until it faded away with the darkness. Her agonizing scream tore through me like a great shard of glass. I felt my eyes widen and pulse quicken, my heart thudding like a rock rattling in box. The scream came again, desperate, tormented, and before I knew it, my legs were speeding toward the distress voice of Bragg. Sitting in the corner of the open stall, she sat there rocking, her eyes bloodshot with tears, her arms wrapped around her waist like the acid from her stomach was eating into her body, and burning her from the inside. Another one of the girls came rushing in. No doubt, she had heard her cry as well.

“What’s wrong?” she asked frantically.

“I don’t know. I just suddenly felt this pain,” she said, trying to hold back around painful scream.