Woon shivered as an ever-present memory crossed his mind. A young man had died by his own hand because of his want to ensure history was accurate and complete. It was the reason he was here at all instead of still in academia doing a history thesis. He didn’t regret his choice to join the army instead of being charged with murder, but now he had to squeeze his academic history work in around his day job. The psychotherapy the Captain had sent him to when he’d offered to honour ancient Japanese samurai culture had shown him that his guilt from the incident in his youth might be less if he had accepted a trial and possible prison instead of recruitment into the army. There was no going back on that now, though. At lease he understood.
“Excuse me,” Woon said to his guest with a bow as he got up to go to the kitchen. He came back with Taiyaki, a cake in the shape of a snapper fish, filled with, a sweet red bean paste called anko. “Shall I read my account of our mission to you while you enjoy a treat?” He asked, proffering a plate with a bow.
“That sounds lovely,” Sufra said, pushing back her long, straight, very glossy mane. She took the plate and settled back.
Woon folded his legs as if he were sitting on the floor. “I’ve used first person to tell the tale to make it clear to the reader that my personal point of view is incorporated into it. Traditionally historical texts were written in third person omniscient, as though the work is an authority. However, I want to leave it to the reader to decide how to absorb the facts, given that the author is intimate with the historical event. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, totally. I think it will add accuracy to history actually, to have it from the horse’s mouth.”
Woon inclined his head. “I am honoured. Stop me an any time you have a comment or question.” He began.
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