Tait C
A Soldier's Perspective
My eyes open. Ash covers my lenses, I can barely make anything out. I look to my right, to my left, then forward. I'm on the ground, laying on my back. Dirt, soot, and ash covers my body. I begin to posture up but feel a fire shoot up my spine. My screams are drown by the booming of gunfire. I lie back, my body flat against the dirt. I feel every nerve in my back burn, but the rest of my body is numb. I peel a black film from my eyes, yet my vision barely clears. I try to posture up once more, this time fighting through the pain. I look to my right and see my brothers, blood pooling around their torsos. They are, they were young, golden people. I’m young, I shouldn't be here. I should be sitting on the farm with my father. Picking apples with my sister. Instead I'm here fighting, for seemingly no reason. I understand the point, I just can't do it anymore.
The fire in my body begins to peter out. I try to stand up, but the weight of my body is far too much for my leg. I collapse, face in the dirt. I hear indiscriminate yelling. One of us, or one of them, I cannot tell. I try to rise again, same result. A red liquid begins to stain my leg. Without hesitation I remove my coat and wrap the wound. Suddenly a sharp pain rushes through my thing and up into my skull. I feel my eyes begin to grow heavy, I feel my hands falls. My hearing distorted, my vision blurred. I collapse....
...My eyes open, but this time my vision is clear. My head feels heavy, but I lift it anyway. I scan the area, scoping to my left and right. I see a woman, a quite beautiful woman. She has auburn hair, fair skin, innocent but broken eyes. I see distress in a face that would otherwise be calm. Im enamoured by her. A soft, but broken soul. She begins to speak but I cannot hear any words. Her voice is soothing, almost like a song. I bring my chin to my chest and survey the damage done to my leg. I see the bandage, tainted by blood and puss. I try to lift my leg but I only feel excruciating pain. Is my flesh torn apart? Will I ever walk again? I attempt to remove the bandages but do not succeed. The immense amount of anxiety is unbearable. I try to move my toes, nothing.
I feel my body begin to tense. My arms and hands shake uncontrollably. My chest locks up, causing my lungs to collapse, my breath taken from my throat. My heart pounds, it sounds like a thousand marching soldiers. I feel my face burn hot, my head filling with pressure. I feel my eyes bulge out of my skull. Every muscle in my body contracts limiting all movement. I feel the veins protrude from my neck, and arms. Suddenly a gasp of air, then nothing...
The bright morning light wakes me from my rest. My eyes slowly open, the light rushing into them like a river. I’m greeted with a broken smile.
“You’ve been out for quite some time,” The auburn haired woman says to me.
I grin, because it’s all my body will do. I try to formulate words but my body will not cooperate with my mind. I look down at my leg, curious but also anxious.
“The bullet didn’t severe any arteries, nor did it pierce your leg. It was just a graze. Your leg will heal, you’re lucky to still have it, you’re lucky to still be alive,” The woman says with an intense tone.
I attempt to posture up, but to no avail. My heart rate increases, it feels like hot lead weighs upon my chest. I feel my spine quiver as my back arches upward. My leg begins to shake uncontrollably. The pain is unbearable, unlike anything I’ve felt before.
“Shh, shh, calm yourself, just lay down and let this pass. You have no reason to get up.”
Her voice is shaky, unstable. Are there other people in this house? Is she tending to anyone else?...
...Days pass, maybe weeks, at this point I really do not know. Days are blending together, I have no perception of time. I haven’t left this bed, I haven’t left this room. My days are spent sleeping. I don’t eat, I barely even think. It feels like my days are numbered, even though they aren’t. It’s depressing here. Though I’m isolated I know people are dying across the hall. Death is the only thing this war has brought. They told us we would be free from the English, that all we had to do was fight. Instead of being treated as heroes, we’re seen as unlawful assemblies tending to the disturbance of public tranquility. Look at where it's brought me, I am no more than a vegetable rotting in place. Am I fighting a righteous fight? Should I be fighting at all?...
...This morning is unlike most. Instead of eerie silence and darkness, today is bright. I hear music, I hear laughter. The auburn haired woman enters my room. She has a warm look on her face. Her skin is no longer gray, nor are her hands shaking.
“Good morning, quite a good morning it is,” She sings.
“Ye...yes..good morning...” My voice is raspy, sounds nothing like I remember it.
Her face lights up, “I guess you really can speak, I wasn’t so sure.”
“I wasn’t...either,” I begin to choke on my spit, but quickly clear my throat.
I posture up, this time without failure. I scan my surroundings, I can finally see the room I’ve been living in for seemingly so long. I look to my right and my left. A quaint room, small, but well furnished. A small wooden table sits about three feet away from the bed. Well constructed, most certainly handcrafted. It looks sturdy, it looks strong. Two chairs are placed on either side of the table. The same craftsmanship as the table. Also sturdy and well made, with small decorative etchings on the base. The walls are short and plain, but blend seemingly into the ceiling. There are two small windows towards the top of the walls, one on either side of the leftmost wall. Only minimal light shines through. The bed is small and now that I can feel, I realize it's comfortable. I see the doorway, and curiosity takes over my body.
I swing my legs to the side of the bed and push my feet to the ground, it's cold, very cold. I try to stand, but my legs are weak. I stumble but she catches me.
“Woah now, you’ve been through a lot, you need to get back in bed.” She says with a tremble of concern.
“No, I’m sick of the stale air.” A cough escapes my throat.
I move my legs, feeling like a newborn fawn. Rhymically I walk, one foot after the other. Step by step, motion by motion, I begin to feel human again. My eyes are fixed on the door, my current destination. I reach for the knob and without hesitation the room is flooded by the sounds of music and laughter. I begin to travel through the halls and down the stairs, my mind no longer has control of my body.
The music comes to a halt...
“Well hello young man, good to see that you’re functioning.” An older woman says to me.
She has intense eyes, eyes that hold ambition and wisdom. She's stout, short but strong. She reminds me of my mother, kind and caring, but tough. Someone who will do anything to protect her family.
“Hello ma’am... where am...”
Before I can finish my sentence she erupts with laughter.
“Come, sit, I’ll explain everything in due time, but first you must eat.” She chuckles.
I take a seat at the table. It is large, sturdy, it could accommodate a large family. I noticed an etching around its perimeter in a styling similar to the table and chairs upstairs. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head, I see a large man with gruff and gray features. He is physically tall, built like a farmer, but most likely a soldier. He looks calm, collected, kind, but at the same time, disturbed. I’m beginning to see a common thread between this family. I assume they’re usually bright and calm, but this war is changing them. It’s causing them to fall into turmoil. It’s ruining them.
“Son, you’ve fared much better than most, we’re happy to have you here.” The man says to me.
His eyes look vacant after this statement. He’s seen people fight, he’s seen people die, he’s seen people ripped apart. This man seems ruined, the war ruined him.
“White Plains, the 28th. 6 days ago.” He starts, his throat dry.
“There were a thousand of us, all under Washington’s command. We moved through the village, with great care and vigilance. The air was crisp, cold, there was a steady autumn breeze. I wanted to retreat back to Washington’s camp, but I couldn’t disobey orders... The cannon, the goddamned cannon... A volley of gunfire... Blood split...”
A single tear rolls down his cheek. He slumps against the wall as if all life has left his body.
“They killed them boy, they killed my brothers. We can’t do anything but fight back. We have no choice anymore, we either fight, or we subject to their rule. As Franklin says ‘We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.’”
I listen to his every word. I understand what he’s seen. I know what it’s like out there. A man like this doesn’t need to fight out there, he needs to be with his family. I posture up, and stare deep into his eyes. I kneel down to his level and say with confidence.
“Where is your musket?”
(I want more in this area but for the sake of time I cannot write it all. I’m just going to write my conclusion)
...The boat sways to and fro in the dark blue Jersey water. My fingertips, blue, my chest, chilled to the bone. I look forward and see Washington, tall and strong. The colonial flag billows in the wind. It inspires hope, it shows us that all of this fighting has purpose. I feel snow pierce my exposed skin. This cold is debilitating, but the pride and hope of my fellow Americans keeps me warm. May this night end it all. May this night solidify our victory. Washington tells us to keep quiet, but the men are booming with passion. We clutch our muskets ready to engage. The moment this boat hits the shore we will charge into Trenton, clearing the loyalist opposition. Such an attack is perfectly crafted, they won’t know what hit them.
We hit the shore, Washington leaps from the boat. Absolute silence. His boots hit the dirt, the leaves crunching beneath him.
“Cmon men, we have a battle to win.” He smirks and the soldiers erupt in cheers and song
We march from the river bank to the outskirts of the town. We wait idle by for Washington to give the signal. I scan the area, loyalists everywhere. Washington looks concerned, apparently the attack was delayed several hours due to the crossing. Either way I will stand here and await my orders.
The sun slowly breaks the dark horizon; dawn.
“We march now men!”
Thousands of patriots charge into the town, the loyalists becoming more and more thinned out as they frantically rush to counter. I charge forward, not minding opposing gunfire. I discharge my weapon, but do not hit an enemy. I take cover behind a small building with a brick wall towards it’s side. I begin reloading my musket, dropping the steel ball into the muzzle. I posture up, discharge my weapon, and see a dark red dance through the air. Another patriot ducks next to me.
“Soldier, give me your musket.” He takes my musket and gives me his.
I take another shot, this time hitting a charging loyalist.
“Crack shot! You saved a brother's life.” He gives me my musket once again, reloaded and ready to be fired.
I scan the area, no enemies in immediate sight. I move away from my cover.
“We need to move up, now.” My voice is shrill, yet tough. I am a soldier, this is what I must do.
We run toward a wagon and together we push it on its side.
“To your left!” My ally patriot shouts and I quickly dispatch the enemy.
He gives me the other musket, this time I wait to fire. The smoke from the firearms is obstructing my view of the battle. I must wait for the right opportunity to fire. I hear a shout and turn around. A red coat runs towards us, his body hunched and his face animalistic. I fire my weapon, but it merely grazes his shoulder. My ally fires and puts the enemy to rest. He sighs with relief, though his eyes show tension and stress. He never killed before that shot...
...The sun sets over the horizon, death looms in the air. We fought hard today, fought for the birth of our country. We can go home, and we can celebrate. We can celebrate the United States. We can finally celebrate freedom. I see Washington on the hilltop, stable and strong. The sun burns behind him, painting his pale skin. He overlooks the battlefield. A fire ignites in his eyes, I see a passion for freedom. This man is courageous, stood up against Britain despite the odds. This man is the personification of the United States of America.
I see a lonesome horse, my body tired and weary, I mount it. The smell of death is pushed from my senses as I ride the horse away. The cold winter breeze hits my face, but I still feel the warm passion flow through my body. I feel pride for my country, pride for my fellow patriots. The horse gallops methodically, hooves hitting the dirt road one after another. The cuts and bruises that litter my body are numb, maybe due to the winter cold, maybe due to the feeling of victory.
The sound of the hooves halts, my happiness turns to sorrow. Absolutely utter silence, I cannot hear a sound besides the rustling of the bushes and trees. I look to my right, to my left. I see nothing but the red blood of the red coats split on the ground. I hear a crunch towards my rear, most likely just an animal. Suddenly an explosion of smoke breaks the silence. The horse rears up, and the large strong animal hits the ground. My leg, it’s stuck, not here, not like this... I see my musket beside me, but it’s just out of reach. I dig my fingers into the dirt, attempting to pull my body out from under the stallion.
A Soldier's Perspective
My eyes open. Ash covers my lenses, I can barely make anything out. I look to my right, to my left, then forward. I'm on the ground, laying on my back. Dirt, soot, and ash covers my body. I begin to posture up but feel a fire shoot up my spine. My screams are drown by the booming of gunfire. I lie back, my body flat against the dirt. I feel every nerve in my back burn, but the rest of my body is numb. I peel a black film from my eyes, yet my vision barely clears. I try to posture up once more, this time fighting through the pain. I look to my right and see my brothers, blood pooling around their torsos. They are, they were young, golden people. I’m young, I shouldn't be here. I should be sitting on the farm with my father. Picking apples with my sister. Instead I'm here fighting, for seemingly no reason. I understand the point, I just can't do it anymore.
The fire in my body begins to peter out. I try to stand up, but the weight of my body is far too much for my leg. I collapse, face in the dirt. I hear indiscriminate yelling. One of us, or one of them, I cannot tell. I try to rise again, same result. A red liquid begins to stain my leg. Without hesitation I remove my coat and wrap the wound. Suddenly a sharp pain rushes through my thing and up into my skull. I feel my eyes begin to grow heavy, I feel my hands falls. My hearing distorted, my vision blurred. I collapse....
...My eyes open, but this time my vision is clear. My head feels heavy, but I lift it anyway. I scan the area, scoping to my left and right. I see a woman, a quite beautiful woman. She has auburn hair, fair skin, innocent but broken eyes. I see distress in a face that would otherwise be calm. Im enamoured by her. A soft, but broken soul. She begins to speak but I cannot hear any words. Her voice is soothing, almost like a song. I bring my chin to my chest and survey the damage done to my leg. I see the bandage, tainted by blood and puss. I try to lift my leg but I only feel excruciating pain. Is my flesh torn apart? Will I ever walk again? I attempt to remove the bandages but do not succeed. The immense amount of anxiety is unbearable. I try to move my toes, nothing.
I feel my body begin to tense. My arms and hands shake uncontrollably. My chest locks up, causing my lungs to collapse, my breath taken from my throat. My heart pounds, it sounds like a thousand marching soldiers. I feel my face burn hot, my head filling with pressure. I feel my eyes bulge out of my skull. Every muscle in my body contracts limiting all movement. I feel the veins protrude from my neck, and arms. Suddenly a gasp of air, then nothing...
The bright morning light wakes me from my rest. My eyes slowly open, the light rushing into them like a river. I’m greeted with a broken smile.
“You’ve been out for quite some time,” The auburn haired woman says to me.
I grin, because it’s all my body will do. I try to formulate words but my body will not cooperate with my mind. I look down at my leg, curious but also anxious.
“The bullet didn’t severe any arteries, nor did it pierce your leg. It was just a graze. Your leg will heal, you’re lucky to still have it, you’re lucky to still be alive,” The woman says with an intense tone.
I attempt to posture up, but to no avail. My heart rate increases, it feels like hot lead weighs upon my chest. I feel my spine quiver as my back arches upward. My leg begins to shake uncontrollably. The pain is unbearable, unlike anything I’ve felt before.
“Shh, shh, calm yourself, just lay down and let this pass. You have no reason to get up.”
Her voice is shaky, unstable. Are there other people in this house? Is she tending to anyone else?...
...Days pass, maybe weeks, at this point I really do not know. Days are blending together, I have no perception of time. I haven’t left this bed, I haven’t left this room. My days are spent sleeping. I don’t eat, I barely even think. It feels like my days are numbered, even though they aren’t. It’s depressing here. Though I’m isolated I know people are dying across the hall. Death is the only thing this war has brought. They told us we would be free from the English, that all we had to do was fight. Instead of being treated as heroes, we’re seen as unlawful assemblies tending to the disturbance of public tranquility. Look at where it's brought me, I am no more than a vegetable rotting in place. Am I fighting a righteous fight? Should I be fighting at all?...
...This morning is unlike most. Instead of eerie silence and darkness, today is bright. I hear music, I hear laughter. The auburn haired woman enters my room. She has a warm look on her face. Her skin is no longer gray, nor are her hands shaking.
“Good morning, quite a good morning it is,” She sings.
“Ye...yes..good morning...” My voice is raspy, sounds nothing like I remember it.
Her face lights up, “I guess you really can speak, I wasn’t so sure.”
“I wasn’t...either,” I begin to choke on my spit, but quickly clear my throat.
I posture up, this time without failure. I scan my surroundings, I can finally see the room I’ve been living in for seemingly so long. I look to my right and my left. A quaint room, small, but well furnished. A small wooden table sits about three feet away from the bed. Well constructed, most certainly handcrafted. It looks sturdy, it looks strong. Two chairs are placed on either side of the table. The same craftsmanship as the table. Also sturdy and well made, with small decorative etchings on the base. The walls are short and plain, but blend seemingly into the ceiling. There are two small windows towards the top of the walls, one on either side of the leftmost wall. Only minimal light shines through. The bed is small and now that I can feel, I realize it's comfortable. I see the doorway, and curiosity takes over my body.
I swing my legs to the side of the bed and push my feet to the ground, it's cold, very cold. I try to stand, but my legs are weak. I stumble but she catches me.
“Woah now, you’ve been through a lot, you need to get back in bed.” She says with a tremble of concern.
“No, I’m sick of the stale air.” A cough escapes my throat.
I move my legs, feeling like a newborn fawn. Rhymically I walk, one foot after the other. Step by step, motion by motion, I begin to feel human again. My eyes are fixed on the door, my current destination. I reach for the knob and without hesitation the room is flooded by the sounds of music and laughter. I begin to travel through the halls and down the stairs, my mind no longer has control of my body.
The music comes to a halt...
“Well hello young man, good to see that you’re functioning.” An older woman says to me.
She has intense eyes, eyes that hold ambition and wisdom. She's stout, short but strong. She reminds me of my mother, kind and caring, but tough. Someone who will do anything to protect her family.
“Hello ma’am... where am...”
Before I can finish my sentence she erupts with laughter.
“Come, sit, I’ll explain everything in due time, but first you must eat.” She chuckles.
I take a seat at the table. It is large, sturdy, it could accommodate a large family. I noticed an etching around its perimeter in a styling similar to the table and chairs upstairs. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my head, I see a large man with gruff and gray features. He is physically tall, built like a farmer, but most likely a soldier. He looks calm, collected, kind, but at the same time, disturbed. I’m beginning to see a common thread between this family. I assume they’re usually bright and calm, but this war is changing them. It’s causing them to fall into turmoil. It’s ruining them.
“Son, you’ve fared much better than most, we’re happy to have you here.” The man says to me.
His eyes look vacant after this statement. He’s seen people fight, he’s seen people die, he’s seen people ripped apart. This man seems ruined, the war ruined him.
“White Plains, the 28th. 6 days ago.” He starts, his throat dry.
“There were a thousand of us, all under Washington’s command. We moved through the village, with great care and vigilance. The air was crisp, cold, there was a steady autumn breeze. I wanted to retreat back to Washington’s camp, but I couldn’t disobey orders... The cannon, the goddamned cannon... A volley of gunfire... Blood split...”
A single tear rolls down his cheek. He slumps against the wall as if all life has left his body.
“They killed them boy, they killed my brothers. We can’t do anything but fight back. We have no choice anymore, we either fight, or we subject to their rule. As Franklin says ‘We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.’”
I listen to his every word. I understand what he’s seen. I know what it’s like out there. A man like this doesn’t need to fight out there, he needs to be with his family. I posture up, and stare deep into his eyes. I kneel down to his level and say with confidence.
“Where is your musket?”
(I want more in this area but for the sake of time I cannot write it all. I’m just going to write my conclusion)
...The boat sways to and fro in the dark blue Jersey water. My fingertips, blue, my chest, chilled to the bone. I look forward and see Washington, tall and strong. The colonial flag billows in the wind. It inspires hope, it shows us that all of this fighting has purpose. I feel snow pierce my exposed skin. This cold is debilitating, but the pride and hope of my fellow Americans keeps me warm. May this night end it all. May this night solidify our victory. Washington tells us to keep quiet, but the men are booming with passion. We clutch our muskets ready to engage. The moment this boat hits the shore we will charge into Trenton, clearing the loyalist opposition. Such an attack is perfectly crafted, they won’t know what hit them.
We hit the shore, Washington leaps from the boat. Absolute silence. His boots hit the dirt, the leaves crunching beneath him.
“Cmon men, we have a battle to win.” He smirks and the soldiers erupt in cheers and song
We march from the river bank to the outskirts of the town. We wait idle by for Washington to give the signal. I scan the area, loyalists everywhere. Washington looks concerned, apparently the attack was delayed several hours due to the crossing. Either way I will stand here and await my orders.
The sun slowly breaks the dark horizon; dawn.
“We march now men!”
Thousands of patriots charge into the town, the loyalists becoming more and more thinned out as they frantically rush to counter. I charge forward, not minding opposing gunfire. I discharge my weapon, but do not hit an enemy. I take cover behind a small building with a brick wall towards it’s side. I begin reloading my musket, dropping the steel ball into the muzzle. I posture up, discharge my weapon, and see a dark red dance through the air. Another patriot ducks next to me.
“Soldier, give me your musket.” He takes my musket and gives me his.
I take another shot, this time hitting a charging loyalist.
“Crack shot! You saved a brother's life.” He gives me my musket once again, reloaded and ready to be fired.
I scan the area, no enemies in immediate sight. I move away from my cover.
“We need to move up, now.” My voice is shrill, yet tough. I am a soldier, this is what I must do.
We run toward a wagon and together we push it on its side.
“To your left!” My ally patriot shouts and I quickly dispatch the enemy.
He gives me the other musket, this time I wait to fire. The smoke from the firearms is obstructing my view of the battle. I must wait for the right opportunity to fire. I hear a shout and turn around. A red coat runs towards us, his body hunched and his face animalistic. I fire my weapon, but it merely grazes his shoulder. My ally fires and puts the enemy to rest. He sighs with relief, though his eyes show tension and stress. He never killed before that shot...
...The sun sets over the horizon, death looms in the air. We fought hard today, fought for the birth of our country. We can go home, and we can celebrate. We can celebrate the United States. We can finally celebrate freedom. I see Washington on the hilltop, stable and strong. The sun burns behind him, painting his pale skin. He overlooks the battlefield. A fire ignites in his eyes, I see a passion for freedom. This man is courageous, stood up against Britain despite the odds. This man is the personification of the United States of America.
I see a lonesome horse, my body tired and weary, I mount it. The smell of death is pushed from my senses as I ride the horse away. The cold winter breeze hits my face, but I still feel the warm passion flow through my body. I feel pride for my country, pride for my fellow patriots. The horse gallops methodically, hooves hitting the dirt road one after another. The cuts and bruises that litter my body are numb, maybe due to the winter cold, maybe due to the feeling of victory.
The sound of the hooves halts, my happiness turns to sorrow. Absolutely utter silence, I cannot hear a sound besides the rustling of the bushes and trees. I look to my right, to my left. I see nothing but the red blood of the red coats split on the ground. I hear a crunch towards my rear, most likely just an animal. Suddenly an explosion of smoke breaks the silence. The horse rears up, and the large strong animal hits the ground. My leg, it’s stuck, not here, not like this... I see my musket beside me, but it’s just out of reach. I dig my fingers into the dirt, attempting to pull my body out from under the stallion.