“Cameron!” I jolted awake from my dream.
Looking around, there was no sign of Cameron. Everyone looked at me with a mixture of surprise and sympathy.
Before I could dwell on it, there was a loud rumble. The plane shook a few times, luggage falling from the overhead compartments.
“Don’t panic,” the captain came out to reassure everyone, “We’re landing soon because there’s a war going on below. The plane is flying low and is vulnerable to artillery fire.”
Someone exclaimed, “What kind of artillery has such power!”
The captain just smiled without speaking, a hint of sadness on his face. “The kind of artillery with devastating power often hits civilians… Alcostan’s capital is already in ruins!”
Silence fell over the cabin as everyone absorbed the gravity of the situation.
It wasn’t until after landing that I witnessed the cruelty and horror of war firsthand.
This wasn’t a country anymore; it was simply a wasteland. Alcostan, once a glorious ancient kingdom in the Middle East, now lay in ruins. Its historic sites had been bombed into rubble.
There wasn’t a single intact area in the capital; everywhere lay ruins and debris. Children no longer had innocent smiles; instead, they instinctively raised makeshift slingshots and pellet guns at strangers, eyes filled with hatred and fear.
I stayed with other journalists in makeshift shelters on the outskirts of the capital, where the peacekeeping forces were stationed, ensuring safety but still within earshot of the constant bombardment.
We often gathered around a television with poor reception. The images transmitted were from drones capturing real-time footage: bombs exploding, bodies littering the streets, tanks rolling through with brutal and triumphant armed militants atop them; civilians displaced, with a single pot of soup for an entire day’s sustenance.
Sometimes, people couldn’t even go outside to find water to drink because they didn’t know when they might be hit by bullets.
After spending several days here, my psychological resilience was on the verge of collapse. Many times, I stared at the computer screen but couldn’t type a single word. My mind was filled with gunfire and refugees, and then I would break down in tears.
A senior colleague once taught me that journalists have the broadest spectrum of life dimensions. To be a journalist, one must have strong resilience. You must be able to enjoy prosperity and endure adversity.
I nodded in agreement, but I couldn’t help feeling deeply saddened by the rising death toll I saw again today.
In Alcostan, I endured a difficult period, not only physically but also psychologically.
One day, several senior journalists excitedly told us, “Be quick! We’ve been approved to go to the front line, to face this war head-on! Get ready, follow the peacekeeping forces, and depart in fifteen minutes!”
Then, all of us became excited, grabbing our cameras and microphones, fully armed, and following the peacekeeping forces into the front line.
When we actually entered the front line and saw the war unfolding before our eyes, the impact was much stronger than watching real-time footage.
The explosions were right next to us, and we could even feel them brushing past our scalps. In the city, the heat waves rolled, gunfire thundered, and the flames seemed to scorch my skin, burning painfully.
There was nothing in my ears but the sound of machine guns and artillery shells. I felt like a deaf person, lost in a desert, unable to discern the direction.
Our vehicle was almost ambushed on the way. With a deafening roar, dust was blown several meters high. Several colleagues panicked, ignoring advice, scrambling out of the car, only to step on landmines and be instantly obliterated.
The feeling I had at that moment couldn’t be described as shock…
People who had spoken to me in the morning now had only one arm left…
I covered my ears, crouched down, and screamed, as if by shouting, all the fear would disappear. Bullets flew towards us, punching holes in the car body, everyone scattered and fled, and I didn’t know who pushed me and pulled me, causing me to fall to the ground.
As dust filled the air, at that moment, Cameron’s face suddenly flashed through my mind.
“Cameron… Cameron!”
I cried and screamed, running around like a headless chicken. I realized that I was actually very cowardly. The brave words I spoke before leaving, like how I would definitely bring back first-hand information, now seemed to have been kicked out of my mind.
I realized that I wasn’t without attachments. I valued my life greatly, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of bloodshed, and I was afraid of never seeing the person I most wanted to see again.
“Retreat! Everyone follow me to a safe zone!”
I couldn’t tell where this voice was coming from, but I managed to open my eyes and look. A UN-marked military vehicle drove up. I ran towards it with all my might, a bullet hitting the ground beside me. I jumped up, almost collapsing from weaknes…
A dark gun barrel was aiming at me!
“Ah-”
In that moment, my scream echoed through the air, a primal cry of sheer terror.
“Get away, quickly!” shouted the peacekeeping forces.
“Danger, get down!”
But I stood still, frozen in place.
Suddenly, a tremendous force came at me. At the same time, the dark gun barrel fired a blinding flash, roaring past me overhead.
Before I could react, I was dragged behind a large tree by that force. Meanwhile, the UN vehicle stopped nearby. He swiftly lifted me into the car. In the pitch-black interior of the vehicle, I was still trembling with fear, but I could feel a pair of gentle eyes, along with a familiar embrace and heartbeat.
Was I dreaming?
Perhaps.
I might have been too tired, I’m feeling nervous, experiencing hallucinations.
Yet his voice was undeniably real, “Laura, Laura, how are you? Open your eyes and look at me!”
Cameron?
In the darkness, I met a pair of bright eyes.
That well-defined face, those thick eyebrows, the prominent nose, the thin lips.
My fingers slid over…
Tears fell drop by drop.
“Cameron!” I shouted, throwing myself into his arms.
It was really him, he came. He took me away from that place where bullets flew.
“Cameron…” I called out to him again. He held me close, gently stroking my hair.
“Don’t be afraid, I’m here.”
I nodded.
Throughout the journey, I was sometimes awake, sometimes in a daze, but I could feel Cameron holding my hand all the time. Even when we returned to the camp, he didn’t let go, holding me tightly in his arms. I slept soundly for a while. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I saw Cameron beside me. He was asleep, with furrowed brows and a slightly open mouth, still snoring. I chuckled softly, running my fingers across his face, feeling like I couldn’t get enough of looking at him.
Unexpectedly, he suddenly woke up. I was startled. When our eyes met, my heart raced.
“Sorry,” I whispered softly, “Did I wake you up?”
He rubbed his eyes. “No. Anyway, I wasn’t sleeping well. This bed is too hard.”
I wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth, smiling, “Drooling in sleep, and blaming the bed for being uncomfortable?”
“Laura!”
He grabbed my hand, glaring at me with a hint of annoyance.
“I told you not to come, but you insisted!” He muttered, “Since you’re so keen on finding trouble, then…”
“I’m sorry…” I lowered my head.
“Sorry?” He continued to glare at me, “You’re a renowned journalist, even if you were blown up by a bomb for your career, do you need to apologize to someone like me who has nothing to do with it?”
“Cameron,” I tugged at his sleeve.
He wouldn’t relent, “Aren’t you tough? Aren’t you without attachments? You should face death fearlessly! Why were you so scared when the gun was aimed at you?”
“Can we stop?” I pleaded.
“No!” He raised his voice, “I came all this way, and you won’t let me scold you properly? Is that fair to me?”
I burst out laughing.
“Let me tell you seriously, Laura,” he said sternly, “In that situation just now, you should have displayed your fearless spirit. So what if it’s a cannon? You should still raise your camera! Aren’t you supposed to get first-hand information? What a great opportunity!”
“Enough is enough…”
This man’s nagging was nothing like the Cameron I knew.
“Not at all! I shouldn’t have saved you!”
Tears welled up in my eyes…
I leaned on Cameron’s shoulder, wiping my tears and snot on him. He pushed my head away with disgust, but no matter how he pushed me, I clung to him and wouldn’t leave.
I was going to stick to him for the rest of my life.
“Thank you, Cameron,” I said softly, “You really shouldn’t have saved me… You should have let the bullet hit me, and then see if I truly am heartless.”