Yorktown

A thick fog hung heavily in the air and the smell of death and despair was all around. The ground was damp and thick with the decomposing corpses of those lost in battle. My eyes were blinded by the fog which clung to every inch of the battlefield. All was quiet and peaceful but the sound of distant gunfire soon corrupted the calm, momentarily restful land.

Slowly, the fog lifted into the air and the horrors of a recent battle were fully uncovered. As the nightmarish consequences of war unfolded, the reality of our failure was also revealed. Carefully, I began to clear the battlefield of my fellow comrades. Their bodies were battered and blooded in the tragic battle. The ground was covered with blood and guts; the insides of my friends were spread far and wide. Their tomb less bodies were strewn about the land. Every arm, leg, torso and head lay there motionless on the dead grass, never to fight again. Unfortunately, I and many other fortunate survivors had the hideous job of cleaning up and burying the fallen. Every strike of the shovel in the ground was a lash upon my heart.

The smell of the decaying soldiers lingered throughout Yorktown. Every small breath I took made me feel sick, as the odor of the rotting men was repulsive. Even the ravens, who were used to the smell of death and decay, were repulsed by what lay before them. Edgar Allen Poe's melancholy bird departed in disgust at the sight of my fellow soldiers. Cautiously, I lifted the lifeless men into the crooked cart. One by one I placed them together, each body causing the pile to grow taller and the creaking of the wagon grow louder. 

The wind was strong and ferocious. My cart collapsed. The distorted remains rolled around the field and I cried, I sat down and cried. The violent winds blew against their already battered remains and I screamed to the heavens in anger and despair when I realized what pain and sorrow the Americans had brought upon us. I tried to recover every limb, tooth, bone but soon realized my only option was to set them alight. The idea of my past friends burning sickened me, but this was my only and final option. I struck the match and vomited and cried as I threw the flame on my comrades, my countrymen, my friends.