It's day seventeen. Time has flown since my last entry. But I have been a busy man. I have been working hard at my job and saving what little money I've earned to build a small home for myself. I was sold a plot of land for cheap by a fellow enforcement officer when he found out that I was sleeping on park benches. He never told a soul, but offered me a family lot that overlooks the sea, land that his family had no use for. I bought the land and when he took me to the location, I realized that it will allow me to keep watch of any ships that may cross the bay; a place where I can watch the sea. This was a great comfort to me.
In the last weeks, I have gone to the shores every day and found things from the Mistral come ashore. The helm, our flag, one of our ship's cannons, and our anchor. I have painstakingly brought these things back with me and have used the planks of the ship to even build my home. I have pinned the remnants of our flag to my wall, I have the cannon and anchor just outside my door to remind me every day that my men died for me.
But despite these changes, this place still does not feel like home.
For now, this home will do. It is, I hope, a temporary existence. I still ache for Acacia, for my real home.
~Tom Calico
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