I gaze upon a field of dead and dying men. A field of death. Our dead, their dead. Americans. “Who is to blame?” I wonder as I mull over the day’s events. Is it the generals? Is it McClellan or Lee? Did they do this? Perhaps. Is it the men, those brave fighters who gave their lives or will give them eventually? I don’t think it is the men’s fault. No, I think to myself, too many of them would rather not do this. This whole war. So who has created this field of death? Might it be Lincoln? This, I say to myself, is an idea. Quite some idea indeed. The more I think about it the more it makes sense. He declared this war, he created this field. I become hot with anger. How could he do this? More thinking. I calm myself down. No, he didn’t do this. He didn’t kill these men. Then who? A new thought comes to my mind. Perhaps we are all responsible. The North, the South. The elite and the lowly, the rich and the poor. All of us. We all contributed. I helped make this field. And was it not for a noble cause, that men might become free? I take one last look at the field of our dead and hope to never see another like it in all of my days. Perhaps we will fight tomorrow. Perhaps tomorrow I will just be another of the nameless dead that coat these death fields with their bodies. Perhaps. I pray to God for this to never come to pass. I pray for the Union, for America. We are moving out now, who knows what tomorrow will bring. I have a sinking feeling that more of these death fields wait in my future. Seeing if I will become a part of one will haunt me until this great unpleasantness is over…
So, wadda you think?
At night all cats are grey.
I dwell not in the city to become a worthless idler,
I plunge me in the forest to be eaten by the Mngwa! Terrors of the night, I pray you send hither,
The great gray shape that makes men shiver.
I am a werewolf, and when I killed them, I had no control over my actions. - Cummings I eat urban legends for lunch!