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Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. May contain strong sexual scenes, violence, coarse language, drug use, horror and adult themes.
No rights infringement intended. Sharpe/Daventry
Extract from William Lawford's Journal. Seringapatam. India. March 16th. 1799.
I fear the Devil has me here as his plaything. He is my tempter and my tormentor. This day he led me to the very gates of Hell, and there he left me, thwarted, and with a pain so dull I ached to the very root of my being.
My heart beat like a drum as I watched him. A young soldier of the line. He's corrupt and compliant, exciting me almost to tears. The foul-mouthed Morris sneered, calling him the 'Regimental Whore'. He knew I was watching. CM is as terrifying as he is loathsome.
Never have I experienced such agony as I gazed upon my soldier, golden haired and dirty, sweating, sullen, endlessly digging in this Indian heat. So utterly desireable.
My heart is still thumping, my romantic soul still clammy at the thought of him, I still squirm, embarassed at my fake interest in the trench being dug, of edging nearer to him, wishing I were a braver man and not so horribly timid. If only he'd looked at me, acknowledged me, if only I had spoken.
I am in despair. God forgive me for what may happen here in this heathen land.
2nd Extract from William Lawford's Journal.
Seringapatam. India. March 23rd. 1799.
I swear that the first life I ever take will be that of Charles Morris. In all my years I have never met anyone so hateful as he. I feel sick to my stomach at his approach and know that he has been put on this earth as my tormentor. There can be no other reason for his attitude towards me for I have done nothing to offend him. If evil can take the form of a man and walk, then it walks in Morris, and in the full light of day. I almost long for battle to start in the hope that he will be struck down, struck down so badly that he will never get up.
My mind is in a turmoil, and I have no proof, but I am certain, quite certain that he knows of my attraction to the young Private they call Dick Sharpe. I curse myself a thousand times for being so transparent, I should have been more careful with my stolen glances and meek smiles. I am a fool and no mistake!
But Morris, what of him? He is moving in, closer and closer, like a lion stalking it's prey. I can feel him, sense him doing it. Surely Dick Sharpe knows it, too? I should talk to him, warn him, but how? How can I possibly speak to a rank and file soldier about this? I can barely give the simplest of orders without feeling flustered. To warn him of Morris and explain why? This I cannot do.
No matter. I fear I am too late, already. I have no proof, except for the look on Morris's face. A look of pure evil, telling me without a word being spoken, that he will defile the young fellow before my very eyes. He has already defiled him in my mind.
It goes on. I know it does. In every corner of the camp. Looks and glances and copper coins change hands. I've seen it done. But the likes of Morris, he has no need of money to secure what he wants. He sends the twitching devil that sits on his shoulder to bring his prey to him.They scare me both. Morris and Hakeswill.
As for Dick Sharpe, has he already been snared by these two? I fear he has, and all because of me?
I should not have looked upon him, not have shown so openly my longing for him. Morris has done this to laugh at me. I can just imagine his talk in the Mess, at my expense. "Watch me, my lad, I'll show you how it's done!" Such evilness. May he rot in Hell, for that is surely where he must end his days, in the hell fire of torment!
Pray God, that all I have written is not true. That Morris has not touched him yet. I must find out, and will.