A Face Once New

December - 1774
Boston, Massachusetts


A cold, dry night. The bustle from the city was no more. A small cottage lay still on the outskirts of the city, far enough for comfort yet close enough to commune. The winter winds howled, clashing against the fur of the cattle outside the cottage. Connor shifted his weight on the bed, looking outside the window. The Boston skyline, sprawling far and wide, shone a hazy glow. A comforting sight. Almost.
Connor, unable to sleep, shuffled out of his bed and trotted over to sit at the table by his window. He gazed at the mountain range on the horizon, then back at the Boston skyline. He lit a small candle, gently placing it on the wooden table.

He glanced over at his journal, next to his bed. He got up, grabbed it, and returned to the table. Flipping it open, a flood of memories poured open in front of him. He grabbed the pen from inside and dabbed it in ink, ready to write.

"I look upon this view of my home, yet I feel it is not what I know it is."
Connor winced.
"As a boy, I was amazed by the city. Prancing around the churches and farms as if I owned them. That boy was a curious one, ready to face the dangers of the sea