Author's Note 1: I really wanted to write something in honor of Abraham Lincoln's birthday! (But I missed it by a few hours) He was so awesome! I had been working on another little something for him, but then I got all inspired to write this just the other day. I decided to put up this for his birthday, instead of the other one, because I realized the other one was kinda sad. I'll still put it up eventually, though.
I have seen people do "song fics" before, and I guess this is kinda my first attempt at one. I don't know if I did it right, but I think I like it. The song I used is called "For My Freedom." It comes from this series of kids movies called "Animated Hero Classics." The movies are actually pretty good. They tell the stories of different historical heroes, like Christopher Columbus, Florence Nightingale, Thomas Edison, etc. Of course, the one the song comes from is Abraham Lincoln's. You can listen to it for free, on the Rhapsody website (just x out of the window that pops up asking for a free trail for Rhapsody, and then search for "Songs From The Animated Hero Classics," then click on the album and click the play button for track number 6. "For My Freedom")
I was listening to that song the other day to get me in the mood for writing this, and I don't know what happened, but once it got to the chorus, I started bawling my eyes out! I guess I had a sappy, patriotic moment or something, but I really do count it as such a blessing that I live in a free country! And then I started imagining what it would be like to live my whole life in some kind of slavery and then one day finally being set free. I know I could never come close to understanding what that would be like, but just imagining it brought me to tears of joy! I couldn't stop crying for a while. The song just had to be included in this story somehow! And by the way, if this story or that song, makes anyone else cry, or if anyone out there has cried about sillier things, please tell me so I don't feel like I'm a crazy, emotional wreck! X(
America tossed and turned restlessly in his bed. Now that's not a very easy thing to do when your arms and legs are chained and being forced apart in an almost spread-eagle position, but he somehow managed. He struggled to keep his breaths even as he laid there. He tried to will himself to stay relaxed, but it was no use. Something was keeping him awake, despite the fact that he was exhausted beyond comprehension.
Since he was not going to be falling asleep any time soon, he opened his eyes. The room was dark and empty. The curtains were drawn, and there was no lamp lit to shine any kind of light on anything. The room was so quiet, that the only thing America could hear was the sound of his own raspy breathing. Add the weight of the chains around him, and the young man could almost imagine that he was in some sort of pit or dungeon. Well, at least the atmosphere matched his spirit.
America let his head lull over so that he could look at the chain on his wrist. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there. He gave a half-hearted tug just to check that they were still holding. They were. Good. The broken nation sighed to himself as he reflected on his pitiful situation. There was a time not too long ago, when he was younger and healthier, that he could have broken those chains with ease. However, he now believed that those days were long gone. As he was at the moment, he felt too weak and weary to even lift his chained limbs up an inch. He didn't know if he could ever come close to the way he had once been. Still, he reminded himself that it was a good thing that he couldn't break his bonds.
They kept him hidden away in the White House like that; locked away, so that no one could see him. He felt like he was the embarrassment of his people. Oh, how the mighty had fallen. He had been so proud of how much he had grown since the 1700's. He had really been a great nation; the envy of many others. Now, he was one sorry sight. His whole body was torn by war. Sores, bruises, cuts, burns, and gashes marked his skin; evidence of the battles that had been fought on his own soil. He was plagued with a constant fever. His body was paler and thinner than it ever had been. And you know what? America wouldn't be half as depressed about all that if this had been a normal war. It wasn't unusual for nations to go to war against other nations. But what kind of weak-minded country goes to war against himself?
He never thought that it could happen to him. He was the greatest country in the world, after all. What did his people have to be upset about? Yet here he was in the midst of a full-blown civil war. An open scar ran down his chest from his shoulder, to between his legs, and then around and up his back to meet with his shoulder again. The scar on his body clearly served as a marker that symbolized the division between his Northern and Southern States. In a way, that scar was more painful to America than the too-many battles that had been waged on his body.
And if the war was murder on his body, it was even worse on his mind. People called him the United States of America. "United." He almost chuckled to himself at the thought. What a joke. Because of the war, he didn't know who (or what) he was half of the time, anymore. Sometimes he fought for the North. Sometimes he fought on the side of the South. And at times, he just ignored both sides. What else could he do? He now had two "bosses;" both commanding him to do something different. He couldn't obey both at once. He was only one person! He felt like he was literally being ripped apart.
The President's men had finally caught him and restrained him inside the White House, but even though he was not fighting on the battlefield anymore, he could still feel the pain of it. He was the battlefield. Each fight made a new mark on his body, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Every day, his brave men would die, fighting their own countrymen. The divided hearts of his people and the sensless blood-spilling was tearing America's sanity apart. There were times when he would go into fits of insanity and start beating himself. It was horrible, but sadly, also a perfect display of what was going on; of what the country was doing to itself. That's why the chains had been necessary; to keep the troubled youth from self-mutilation. America's wrists and ankles were rubbed raw from straining against his chains in those moments of insanity. He had come close to breaking them several times. He did manage to break one once, but luckily, he had been quickly chained again.
He now groaned to himself and tried shifting his position again. He didn't want to think about all this. All he wanted to do was get some very much needed rest. He just wanted to sleep away his problems while he was sane enough to try, but his body wouldn't let him. It wasn't because of his pain, or his restraining (and slightly uncomfortable) position. He had more or less become used to all that. No, this was something new. It was hard to explain. He had a fidgety feeling inside of him; like his people were stirring. If he could have, he would've put his hands over his ears. See, they were being loud, too. Really loud. But then, he couldn't exactly complain about his hands not being able to reach his head. Covering his ears would not have quelled the noise, anyway. As the physical embodiment of the country, he had a strong link to the thoughts, feelings, and goings on of his people. He figured something major must have happened for his population to be this riled up, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what.
He had lost track of the dates, but he knew that this had been going on for a while. It had all started weeks and weeks back. He had felt a general restlessness. It was as if something big was going to happen soon, only he didn't know what it was or when it was going to happen. In addition to the physical and mental grief the war had been causing him, it was also messing with the emotional connection he had to his people. All of the turmoil inside of him was making it difficult to pinpoint any event other than a great battle. The general craziness brought on by civil war was confusing to his senses. It was especially hard to understand anything that went on in the South, since those States were trying so fervently to break away from him. Because they hadn't yet succeeded, the bond he had to the people in those areas hadn't been severed, but it had been damaged. It was so damaged that it was almost impossible for him to get anything coherent from the Southerners…unless his mind went into Confederate mode; then the connection problem was reversed. And of course, the bulk of this current taunting feeling just had to be coming from the South.
At first, America had assumed that the feeling was just his people preparing for another battle. One thing was strange about it, though: the feeling was more of anticipation than dread. That had made him uneasy. Why would a deadly battle be anticipated? Then, it had occurred to him that this might be a very important battle. Perhaps it was a battle that was supposed to end the war? The thought of the war ending was both exciting and scary to America. It would be wonderful for this Hell to finally stop, but what would happen to him, afterwards? What would happen to him if the South won? America had only been able to worry as he had waited for this "big thing" to happen. Then, a few days back, it had happened. It was definitely something big, but it was no battle. Whatever had happened, it had caused the restless feeling inside to change into some other, very powerful feeling. It was a feeling that exploded inside of him. It was one that seemed to be growing all the time, and it showed no signs of going away.
He had tried to place this new feeling many times before. As he thought about it now, he came to the decision that it wasn't really a "bad" feeling. It didn't hurt, but it didn't ease his current pain, either. It made him feel weird. After a while, he decided that it mainly made him feel…lighter…for some reason. It was kind of like the feeling of winning a battle, but not quite. After more pondering, he thought that maybe it was closer to the feeling of winning a war, but still, that did not completely describe it. And anyway, it would be impossible for him to have that feeling. His connection to the outside world might have been muddled, but he knew enough to tell that the war had not ended, yet. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling of victory. He could swear the he had won…something. Whatever it was, he had a suspicion that he had won that certain something before. The name of his prize was always on the tip of his tongue. He was positive that he knew what that thing was, but he couldn't find the word for it. It was all so frustrating! The constant presence of the feeling was annoying enough, but not being able to identify what the feeling was, why it was there, and what it all meant was driving him crazy! (And he could say that, because he knew what it meant to be crazy)
America growled loudly in aggravation. Getting very fed up with being left out, he stopped all movement and shut his eyes. Summoning all his determination, he tried to block out the war and everything else that was going on inside of him. He tried desperately to focus on that one elusive feeling. He was going to figure out this riddle if it killed him! At least then he would get some peace.
After a few minutes of unbroken concentration, he could feel that he was getting closer to some type of an understanding. The voices of his people were slowly becoming clearer. He would soon know once and for all what the fuss was about. Then, something very strange happened. He began to feel as if he was in the very midst of the voices. His eyes opened, but to his surprise, he was no longer in his dark room. He was standing in the middle of a large crowd. The voices had lead him to some kind of parade. He stared dumbly at the celebration going on around him. It all looked so familiar. He was in a small town. People were marching up and down the streets. A few people were dancing. Shouts came from open windows. Fireworks went off here and there. A few flags were being waved. However, he realized something was off when he took a good look at the flags. He recognized the flags as his, but they were not current. They had only the thirteen stars together in a circle. The crowd was flying his old flag; the flag created during his revolution. It took him awhile longer to figure it out, but he was looking at a scene from his past. No one took any notice of him as he slowly moved to explore further. He tried to make sense of it all. Was he dreaming? Had he finally fallen asleep?
Suddenly, it dawned on him. He remembered now, this was one of the celebrations that had occurred soon after he had won his revolutionary war against Briton. He remembered participating in this certain celebration, but that wasn't what was important. His epiphany was the realization that the feeling he had felt back then, and the feeling that he had been channeling in the present…they were the same!
With that revelation, America snapped out of his vision. He opened his eyes for real and he was once again back in darkness. He panted on his bed from the surprise of what he had just experienced. He was more confused now than ever. What was that all that about? He thought about the victory of The Revolution; how he had felt after it had ended and what he had won from it. Why would he be feeling like that again? What could possibly be going on right now to cause that feeling to radiate from his people? It didn't make any sense…unless….
No.
BAM!
The blow came out of nowhere. The guards outside of America's room were knocked apart by the force of the double doors. They fell to the ground and took cover as splintered wood rained around them. When the proverbial smoke cleared, the two men looked up in amazement. Those heavy wooden doors had been securely locked and bolted shut only a moment ago. Now, they stood wide open; just barely hanging on by their hinges. All of the locks and bolts had burst apart. It was as if a bomb had exploded from behind those doors.
But it wasn't a bomb.
America stood just inside the door; his left fist still closed and its arm still extended. He was doubled over, clutching his side with his right arm, and breathing heavily…but he was standing! The men cringed as their young nation slowly raised his head to fix his gaze forward.
He looked angry.
But America could only hold himself in that position for so long. He had hardly lifted his eyes to stare ahead, when they clenched shut in pain, and his head dropped. His quivering arm fell from its striking position. His legs gave out and he stumbled to the side. He landed hard against the doorway, but he didn't collapse. With unimaginable groans of agony, he pushed himself away from the entrance of his room and started down the hall.
The guards stood agape at America as he limped past them. America barely noticed their stares. He figured he probably looked like a dead man who had just crawled out of the grave, but he didn't care. He kept walking. He might be a dead man, but he was a determined one. The chains on his wrists swung broken at his sides. The chains that had bound his ankles had snapped as well. The remaining links clanked on the ground as he unceremoniously marched down the hall.
The chains they are falling, and the wall's coming down!
No! That couldn't be what was going on! There had to be a mistake! He would find out for himself! America stumbled several times as he made his way down the hall. His right arm held unto his left side as if he was trying to hold himself together. He was only able to keep standing and moving forward by his pure, desperate need to know the truth about what was going on. But as he forced his battered body to trudge on, his concentration was broken by the sounds of panicked footsteps behind him.
"M-Mr. Jones! Sir!"
America groaned and rolled his eyes. Apparently his "fearless" guards had come out of their shock. He soon felt one put a hand on his shoulder.
"Y-you shouldn't be out of bed!"
The man was obviously attempting to speak with authority, but America could tell by his voice that he was still shaken. America kept his eyes forward. He pushed on and pried himself from the man's hand.
"I have…to see…Lincoln," America grunted out.
Another hand grabbed him. "I'm afraid we can't let you do that," the other guard said.
America didn't have time for this. He pulled away from the new touch and warned the men to stay away from him. Of course, the men hesitantly tried to stop him again. They made grabs at both sides of America. The nation became enraged as he shoved both of his guards away.
"Let me go!"
They came at him again. There was another short struggle. America quickly wrenched away from their hold, but he lost his balance in the process. He fell forward onto a table that had been against the wall. The table broke under his weight.
I stand and I step into the sunlight
America shakily rose from the wreckage of the table. The sun was shining brightly on him through the windows. Somehow, it seemed brighter and warmer than it had been in a long time. He ignored it to the best of his ability. He couldn't let himself get distracted by his rising emotions until he got answers.
The two men had practically turned to stone when he had fallen. They must have been afraid that they might have inflicted further injury on their charge. As he righted himself, he half-noticed that his guards were still frozen in place. He figured that they were stunned that he was actually able to stand again. Truth be told, America was kind of surprised, as well. He could hardly believe that he had made it this far and was still going at it. But he was feeling a new burst of strength. He had to make use of if while he could.
The guards came back to their senses before America could start his journey again. They rushed at him. They tried to help him up and guide him back to his bed, but America would have none of that. He pushed the guards away once more. When they came for him again, America grabbed one of the legs from the broken table and started swinging at them with all his might!
"I said, leave me alone!" he shouted in a crazed voice….
A few minutes later, the doors to the President's meeting room burst open, and in shuffled America; still armed with his make-shift club. The guards and anyone else he had met along the way had been too scared to stop him. The men around the President jumped in surprise. They looked with horror at the gruesome sight that was their country. America ignored them. His only interest was Lincoln.
The President, himself, had obviously been surprised by the intrusion, but when he had seen that it was America, this look had come over him that made it seem as if he had been expecting this. America looked the tall man right in the eye with a demanding gaze. He gasped in wheezy breaths of air; trying to catch his breath. No one came near the struggling nation as he coughed up blood and fought to stay standing. The officials weren't sure what to do or say. Only the President seemed somewhat composed. He watched the doubled-over America closely and patiently waited.
Without taking his accusing eyes of off Lincoln, the suffering nation spoke at last, though labored breaths, "Something…something's happened."
The children are laughing,
The jubilant voices of America's people were starting up in his head again. America hardly dared to listen to it. He didn't want to start believing in something that might not be true. Maybe he had finally gone wholly insane. Maybe he was imagining things that weren't really happening. Maybe he was losing his grip on reality. Maybe he was losing his touch with the feeling of his people. Maybe he was finally fading as a nation. He didn't know what was going on, but he had to find out. He had to know!
"I can't…sleep," he continued. "Some…something's ha-happened, and I can't…ignore it! It's driving me crazy!" America's weak voice became louder as he went on. His stare on the man in front of him became piercing. "I know…you did this."
Lincoln didn't flinch, but his men began to crowd around him. They weren't sure what they were dealing with, but if America had fallen into one of his "Southern" moods, they feared for the President's safety. Lincoln and America completely disregarded the other men in the room. To them, they were all alone. Lincoln did not turn away from America's hard gaze. He stood calmly listening to the little rant. America glared more intensely at the tall man. It maddened him that Lincoln could be behaving so calmly about all this, when he felt as if he was being driven out of his mind!
"I have to know," America started again. He lifted his table leg and pointed it straight at Lincoln.
there' s dancing all around,
"What did you do?"
The room fell quiet. Only America's rough breathing killed the silence. Nobody said anything. America held his ground. He waited for the answer to his question, with his club still raised and his eyes still wild. The extra men in the room began to look very nervous.
Then, without a word, the President began to step forward. The men around him panicked and tried to stop him, but Lincoln gently pushed them away. He only nodded at them; as if to tell them that it was alright. With worried expressions, the men reluctantly let their nation's leader pass.
America's gaze moved upwards as Lincoln slowly advanced. The towering man seemed to become even taller, the closer he came. The young country, himself, didn't move from his position as Lincoln came forward. He tried to stand as strong as he could. He kept his expression defiant. Why was the man taking so long? He had some serious explaining to do.
When Lincoln was a few feet in front of America, he stopped. The spectators in the room held their breaths. America watched as the giant of a man sighed down at him. If Lincoln was afraid, his face did not give it away. Instead, the look he imparted to the tormented land in front of him, was one closer to that of a sad expression of pity—the same kind of look that a grieving father might give to his troubled child. Lincoln had always claimed to care deeply for America. Since the start of the war, he would often tell America that his top priority was to make him whole again, in both mind and body. He wanted the nation to stay united more than anything. Sometimes America loved him for that…other times, he hated the man's guts…it all depended on his unpredictable mood swings.
"Alfred," the President began in a carefully controlled voice, "you know how important it is to me that I see you well again. This war has lasted far too long…for the both of us. I am trying my best to end it as soon as possible, but I will only end it in a way that will save this country and not divide it. In order to do that, we must somehow force the South to surrender."
America glared at him. Lincoln was playing the "politician," now. If America had felt just a little stronger, he would have lashed out at the man and cursed at him to stop beating around the bush and just spit it out, already! He didn't want excuses or reasons for Lincoln's actions. He wanted to know what the actions were, and he wanted to know NOW!
"As commander and chief of your army and navy," Lincoln plowed on, bravely.
America stowed away his rising anger, for the time being. Lincoln was getting to the point. America tried to calm his breathing so that he could better hear Lincoln's words. The man had the country's full attention.
"I found it necessary to take the following action, with the hope that it will weaken the Rebels and bring a swifter end to this war:" here, he paused. The whole room waited. "A few days ago…I proclaimed emancipation for all slaves within the Southern States that have not returned to the Union."
America's eyes widened. The full weight of the truth slowly descended on him. "The Southern States that have not returned to the Union?" That was…ten States…ten whole States in which all the slaves had been….
We're dancing today for our freedom!
PLUNK!
America's grip had slacked, and the table leg had fallen from his hand. The boy's blue eyes remained wide as he stared straight ahead at nothing. He was in shock. His breaths became very quiet. He almost stopped breathing all together.
So it was true.
He hadn't been imagining it. It was really happening. There were celebrations going on everywhere. He could feel them. They were getting clearer all the time. He could feel more and more celebrations constantly starting up as the news spread throughout his once captive people that they were free.
Now that he knew for certain that it all wasn't some symptom of his insanity, America embraced the commotion inside of him. He fell to his knees before the other men in the room. He still appeared stunned and unresponsive to his onlookers, but that was only because his mind was elsewhere. He closed his eyes so that he could more intently focus on the sounds of his freed people. There was so many. It all became a part of him. He could feel their elation. He could feel the arms of parents that wrapped around their children in happiness. He could feel the tearing eyes of the elder ones, who had thought that they would never live to see this day. He could hear prayers of thanksgiving coming from the young and old. He could hear their shouts and songs. He could sense their dancing.
He could feel their freedom.
The room watched in awe as tears started to stream down America's face. The young man opened his mouth. No sound came out, but his lips mouthed one word:
"Finally."
With that, America sank the rest of the way to the floor. He curled up on his stomach, and just laid there, sobbing. His voice slowly came back to him.
"Finally," he whispered.
Blessed freedom!
America wept with joy. He drank in the blessing of sweet freedom. Oh, what a taste! Oh, what a privilege! It took him back to the days after the Revolutionary War, when he had first sampled its flavor. What a feeling it had given him! What a hope! It had made the world brighter, knowing that he was his own country; that he could stand among the other nations of the world as their equal. He was no longer a mere colony. He no longer existed solely to bring profit and glory to some other land. He no longer looked to any other nation as his master. He was his own master! He was free to create a great livelihood for himself and his people. He was a nation in his own right, and as such, he was free to make his own mark on history. At that time, he had felt like he had a real future.
Blessed freedom!
In a way, this dose of freedom was so much like America's first, but in many ways, it was also very different. The people currently celebrating their freedom had suffered far more than he had under England. He had always known that they were his people, yet for so long, he had allowed them to live as slaves in a place that was supposed to promise liberty. For so long they suffered such an ironic injustice. Like him, they had been forced to look to another as their master, but they had done so in a place where all men were supposed to be created equal. And they had done so for so much longer than he had. Yes, this taste was a different taste, but it was still a good taste. A very good taste.
Blessed freedom, I would die for!
America had never liked slavery. In fact, he hated it to the core of his being! The very idea of it went against his nature, but it had always been there. In his early days, he had been trained to believe that it was just the way things were. It had seemed like just another one of those sad facts of life. When it had appeared impossible to convince his people to bring an end to slavery, America had relented. Slavery was there, it would always be there, so he had decided that he might as well make good use of it. America had then used slavery as a means to build himself up. It had seemed to work wonders. He had grown stronger and stronger as the years had gone by. He had quickly become addicted to it. He had thought that he was becoming the great nation that he had always dreamed of being, yet behind all of his success, behind all of his accomplishments, behind all of his boasts of freedom, justice, and equality, slavery was always in the background. Slavery was a contradiction of everything he stood for, and he knew it. It was an ugly stain on his beautiful "American" way of life. He had always known deep down that it shouldn't be there, no matter how much profit it brought him. No kingdom should be made on the backs of slaves. In the back of his mind, he had always known that he should dispose of it, but he was always afraid to do it. He had eventually come to a point where he felt like he had become too dependent on slavery. He had been afraid of what would happen to him if he gave it up. How would he survive? He had begun to hate himself for it, but he felt as if he needed slavery. In the end, the thing that he had deceived himself into believing that it was making him stronger, had only served as an addition to a long list of other grievances that were dividing him and his people; breaking him apart from the inside-out.
Blessed freedom!
Whenever his conscience had chided him over the slavery issue, America had tried to argue that not all the slaves were mistreated. He had tried to convince himself that his land was a kinder place to slaves. His slaves were generally well taken care of, and many slave owners treated their slaves like family. Still, he knew that was no excuse. Well treated or not, they were still enslaved, and he had felt every injustice that came with it. The cruel injustices that would occur if a slave was not fortunate enough to have a good master would continuously haunt him. Every time a family was split up and sold to different owners, he had felt it. Every time a young woman was used by her master, he had felt it. Every time an overseer cracked a whip, he had felt it. And worst of all, every time a poor soul had died…never knowing the joy of freedom…and having no comfort, for they knew that the family they would leave behind, and their future descendants, as well, would always live and die under the same yoke of slavery…he had deeply felt it. Another way he had tried to ease his guilt was by allowing the oppressed to live freely in the Northern states, and by declaring newer States to be Free States. Of course, that had only treated the symptoms, not the disease. Instead of helping, it had only encouraged more division between his people. He had always told himself that he would deal with his problem eventually, when it was the right time, but for some reason, the right time had never seemed to come. There were times when it had seemed like it was impossible for slavery to ever end. America now felt an overwhelming relief that he would no longer have to worry about it.
Blessed freedom!
There was still resentment, of course. There was still pain. America knew that the freedom of the slaves would hurt the South badly, and therefore hurt him. But the pure ecstasy that he was feeling from drinking from the cup of liberty once again was helping to numb any pain he now felt or would feel in the future. The celebrations of the free drowned out all the anger of others who didn't understand. And how could they ever understand? They had never known the feeling of having their very lives belonging to someone else! In that small way, America could understand, and because of that understanding, he was able to rejoice with his redeemed people. And besides, he felt like he had been freed from something, himself. He felt like a weight had been lifted off of him. He felt like he had been living under a curse that had at long last been broken. Slavery had always been a heavy cancer on his body and it was finally gone! The feeling of it was so wonderful. So liberating! He might have been afraid to lose it before, but now he couldn't understand why he had not done this sooner!
We're singing today for our freedom!
For the moment, America's mind was brought back to the present. He realized that Lincoln had knelt before him. He could feel a concerned hand resting on his shoulder. America was too exhausted to raise his head, but he smiled though his tears. He lifted a trembling hand up and grasped the sleeve of his President's shirt. He held onto that sleeve with everything he had.
"Thank you," America whispered to Lincoln. "Thank you."
Lincoln broke at those words and scooped his beloved country into his arms, as best as he could. He held America from the waist up and hugged him. "I know," he whispered back to the crying teen, while beginning to rock back and forth. The man's voice sounded as if he was going to start weeping, too. "It's been a long time coming, hasn't it?"
America nodded. The two stayed on the floor together for quite some time after that. America allowed the taller man to hug him and rock him. The young nation wept in the arms of his commander and chief. He knew that this was far from over. This was only the first step. He knew there would still be many obstacles to overcome in order to achieve total equality for his children. He also knew that he was still in the middle of a civil war. For all he knew, he could return to being a crazed lunatic by this time tomorrow. But for now, America was happy. For the first time in years, he felt like he was in his right mind. He felt like he was his old self again. He felt optimistic. He felt hope for the future, and it was all thanks to the man who was holding him; the man who had reminded America of who he was.
Blessed freedom!
Blessed freedom!
Blessed freedom, I would die for!
Blessed freedom!
Blessed freedom!
Singing today for our freedom!
Author's Note 2: A (REALLY SHORT! Seriously, you should do some more looking into Lincoln) history of Abe Lincoln and the Emancipation Proclamation:
As I said, I think Abraham Lincoln was pretty awesome. He was really smart and gifted at public speaking. He was interested in politics at a young age. He came from a farming family, but he was always more interested in studying that manual labor, although he was not afraid to do a hard, good day's work if he had to. He was known for his honesty.
And he really was a "gentle giant." When he was a boy, he shot a wild turkey, but cried for a long time afterwards because he had taken another life. He never hunted again after that. When he was President, he was quoted as saying something along the lines of how amazing it was that he, who could not even cut the head off a chicken, was chosen to be President during a time when the country would be at civil war. He hated sending people to die in the war, but I really admire him for sticking to it, (not to mention the soldiers who fought in the war) or there might not be an America as we know it today. More than anything, Abe wanted America to remain one nation.
He also hated slavery. One quote of his states: "Whenever I hear any one arguing for slavery I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally." He had to be very carful as a politician, though. If people saw him as an abolitionist (someone who wanted to abolish slavery) he wouldn't have been very popular, so he mainly stuck to things like trying to keep slavery from spreading. The Emancipation Proclamation was something that he wrote during the war, himself. In his own words, he wanted to write something very "special." In order to either force the Southern States to rejoin the Union, or to cripple the economy of the ones who refused, he proclaimed freedom to all slaves within the Southern States that did not returned to the Union by January 1, 1863. The proclamation happened in two parts: first, he made the official announcement on September 22, 1861. (That would have been the start of Alfred's "restless" feeling, as the enslaved began counting down the days to freedom) Then, on the 1st of January, the plan was put into action. Thousands of slaves were freed immediately, and more would be freed throughout the course of the war. I imagine Alfred would have felt the impact of the proclamation. The whole thing was considered a "new birth of freedom." For Lincoln's second election, he pushed for an amendment to the constitution that would bring a permanent end to slavery. The 13th amendment was eventually added and slavery was no more. Hurray!
I know this can be a touchy subject. I just want to say that if this is offensive in any way I did NOT mean for it to be! Let me know if it is, and I will try to fix it, or I'll take the story down. And yes, before anyone say anything, I know that slavery was not the only reason for the Civil War, but it was a big part of it, and it just happens to be the focus of this story. Also, if I made any historical errors, I'll try to correct them, too.
Happy Birthday Abe! Thank you for doing your best to keep our nation together, and for being brave enough to emancipate the slaves and fight for an end to slavery in America!
Oh, and the "No kingdom should be built on the backs of slaves," quote is from the movie "The Prince of Egypt." Also, the relationship between Lincoln and America in this is not yaoi. XD
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