Morroco Fiction Scene

Written from the prospective of a French colonist in the 19th century.

Our huge ship blocked what would’ve been a beautiful view of the Mediterranean Sea. The sun was hidden behind the sails and the water didn’t sparkle as it did when we’d first docked here. Ah, well, I had nothing else to look at. God knows I’d stared at those old Moorish buildings for far too long, weaving in and out of the ornate stone arches for hours upon end and enduring the stares of the natives who leaned out of their windows.
Capitan Louis said that we’d be taking over this place soon. Almost makes me feel sorry for those poor souls, most of which were brown-skinned young women with small children clinging to their dresses.
Sometimes it makes me think about the streets back in Paris. Except the women there were buying bread, not begging for it from what they’d heard were rich and powerful Frenchmen. One, a lovely woman with sleek black hair, threw herself at my leg and babbled in a language I knew nothing of. Probably wanted money or something of the sort. I threw her a gold coin. The poor thing smiled from ear to ear, kissed my cheek, and ran off to show her children. I wish I could’ve done more for them.
“John!” Capitan Louis yelled. “Stop daydreaming and get back to work!”
“Doing what?” I asked.
“Find something!”
I sighed and got up. With one last look at the blue-green sea, I walked back into the maze of winding dirt streets.