Gettysburg Creative Writing
“Come here!” I urged “I can’t!” He sobbed, holding his wound. He slid to the ground, groaning. I clumsily loped my way over to him and grabbed his ankles. I turned and started dragging him to the tent, digging my feet into the ground. A lioness’s strength poured through me. Adrenaline surged through my blood, giving me the power I needed to carry a 180 pound man (with gear on). I reached the tent, a mere 20 or so feet away. I bent down and lifted him slowly onto a low table, about two feet off the ground. He grunted in pain. I whiled around to grab my supplies. “What do I have, what do I have.” I muttered to myself. I pulled drawers randomly on makeshift bureau. Towel. Wrappings. Scalpel. Tweezers. Needle and thread. Would he need stitches?
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Gettysburg.
I finished up the wrappings quickly and ducked out of the tent.
Looking around at the battlefield, it was like it was straight out of a history textbook. Blue and gray clad men dotted the fields. Cannons stood on the top of rolling hills, periodically spitting out rounds. The tangy odor of sulfur coated the atmosphere. Thundering gunshots echoed through the land… I could feel the explosions in my body.
I paused to take it all in for several moments. Then, I ran. I rounded the battlefield, clinging to the edge of the forest, praying to be ignored by any potential bullets fired my way. I dashed behind Confederate lines, trying to stay out of sight. The town, the town. I thought.
What side was he on? I thought. The soldier? It was near-impossible to tell - his uniform had been too bloodied, and the adrenaline of the current situation had kept me from the little details. The coat color - it could determine a lot. Union or Confederate? I certainly hoped for the former, of course. I would not want to aid the side that was all gung ho for slavery and racism.
Focus. I thought. A paved dirt road led the way to a small row of brick houses. Bullets flew behind me like bats swooping on prey. I rounded a corner and flew up the porch of a brick
Gettysburg.
I finished up the wrappings quickly and ducked out of the tent.
Looking around at the battlefield, it was like it was straight out of a history textbook. Blue and gray clad men dotted the fields. Cannons stood on the top of rolling hills, periodically spitting out rounds. The tangy odor of sulfur coated the atmosphere. Thundering gunshots echoed through the land… I could feel the explosions in my body.
I paused to take it all in for several moments. Then, I ran. I rounded the battlefield, clinging to the edge of the forest, praying to be ignored by any potential bullets fired my way. I dashed behind Confederate lines, trying to stay out of sight. The town, the town. I thought.
What side was he on? I thought. The soldier? It was near-impossible to tell - his uniform had been too bloodied, and the adrenaline of the current situation had kept me from the little details. The coat color - it could determine a lot. Union or Confederate? I certainly hoped for the former, of course. I would not want to aid the side that was all gung ho for slavery and racism.
Focus. I thought. A paved dirt road led the way to a small row of brick houses. Bullets flew behind me like bats swooping on prey. I rounded a corner and flew up the porch of a brick