(We're talking about the civil war)
My comrade looks to me for reassurance
I nod at him silently.
He lifts his gun to point East.
We watch the first light break.
All is quiet.
Not even the wind makes a move-
For fear of swaying one side to ensue...
I do hear the faint cry of a man.
Maybe injured? Maybe dying.
I hear the rat-tat-tatting of the drum.
And then the sound of him turning.
My friend and I stare.
Staring at what very well be the last thing we see.
I sigh.
Looking at my musket, I pull it out.
It's silvery and no longer shiny.
Two years of use have taken away it's luster.
I clip it onto the tip of my gun.
The bayonet tries to gleam in the sun.
"Sir...What about the Rebs? What will they do?"
Well, John...I imagine that they'll try and
beat us like a coon.
Out smarting us is beyond them."
"I agree."
And then we hear them.
Those banchee screams. Male seirns.
We see those all-too-familar
blue
grey
dirty clothes.
Even a stolen uniform to match mine...
I see it charging at me...
Bloodstained...muddy...
"Ready, gentlemen?!"
I'm screaming over the rebel cries.
I feel my tongue try to form the word.
I feel my muscles tighten in anticipation.
I yell the word...the one word.
The thing that means
death
survival
and separation.
"FIRE!"
My men were ready.
I hear maybe 100 loud cracks at first...
then more in a succession.
I see the rebels getting closer.
I can tell what they look like.
Old, young, Injured-and-fighting, well...
All men fighting for what they want.
All men fighting,
All men losing.
They approach closer and closer.
I can see their freckles.
One strikes me.
I feel the sharp sting of the butt of his gun in my leg.
My bayonet slips effortlessly into his stomach.
How can war end?
