Gettysburg

The stories I can Tell

The year is 1863, on the first of July. The Confederate Army is closing in on the town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. The Union forces are prepared to defend the city and the state till the last living soul. If they lose this town the Confederate forces will be able to march right up to the capital. I can see the South approaching the town. They are dressed in multicolored clothing and don't look very uninformed, but they march side by side like brothers and they seem exhausted and ready to turn in. BOOM. An artillery gun fires in the distance. I can feel the warm breeze blow across my face, and move my hair around. I see the smoke billowing up off in the distance, Crack, boom, pow. Gun fire rattles off all around me. The once peaceful morning has become loud and full of harsh noises and screams of pain. More smoke and gunfire sounds in the distance, Why is there bloodshed here, there has never been bloodshed here? I am puzzled and become worried, What will become of my friends. A young figure dressed in grey crouches beside me and fires off a shot. I try and shield him, he is no older than 15, still a boy, not a hair on his lip. Don't worry I'll protect you, I tell him, he sits there behind me as I hide him from the men in blue. He pokes his head out from behind my arms and is pelted with bullets and shrapnel, covering my side and arms with blood, his very life source, splattering on me, cold and limp he lays at my feet, a few bullets embedding themselves in my back and neck. I wince but stand tall, not falling. Another charge is called and many men rush the tree line, taking cover by me and on me, scavenging what they can from the boy, Stop let the boy rest in peace, but they can't hear my mortified screams and shouts. The air has become stale with the scent of blood and gunpowder. I look to my brother and assure him everything will be okay before he is blown to pieces by artillery and grapeshot, tearing away his soft young tan flesh and making him fall and bear his soft white inner core.  I try to help him before another barrage of gunfire peppers me and the men around me, spilling their blood on my arms and feet, and leaving deep scars in my back and neck, filling me with pain and sorrow. The men and boys scream in agony and another calls loudly for a medic before a bullet rips through his neck and out his throat, silencing him mid-sentence, more men rush the lines, this time in blue. These men look a lot older than the others, they stab the living that lay among the dead, driving their bayonets deep and carve their flesh like a steak. What is wrong with you people, they were only boys!!!, I scream at them as another barrage of fire rattles in the distance piercing my stomach, face, and hair, ripping the men to shreds, killing many and wounding dozens more. I look around me mortified both groups of men are killing each other with no mercy, I hear a gurgling scream of pain as a man is stabbed in the throat and another is shot in the jaw ripping it jaggedly off, rendering both lifeless and limp. I look at my hands and side, I am a canvas painted red and brown, blood and gore surround me and my brother has fallen dead and being used as cover. All I can do is stand here and watch, and provide cover for these men and children. On the 3rd of July, 1863 the fighting stops. Dead lay all around me, blood soaked the field, but I stand tall, and strong, having done all I can, saving the lives of many, I wish I could have done more, but what I did was enough as the men in Blue marched south taking the fighting with them.