Warm night under troubled skies, the streets of Guatemala sit silent. As if political unrest never existed in the mountains, the last running bus climbs them and disappears into the dark. The embassy has long closed,and although in the morning it will be back to life, it is ghost like. Guards patrol the grounds as shoe-less vagrants wonder along the gate, not too close though, because the guards get nervous, cartel activity is at an all time high. Every night i sit on my balcony, oblivious to what goes on outside of city limits. Horrified at cover stories once light re-emerges, so much so that I skip breakfast, images to vivid. Somewhere in Alta Verapaz a man was torched in a barricaded town and two women were beheaded, all in one night. All in the time it took for the sun to set and rise again. In one sleeping cycle the world around me changed and as I got ready for work, for the first time I felt helpless, I knew nothing of this reality.


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