(no subject)
Title: Antietam
Notes: Set during the Civil War. War correspondents started at this point of time, though they had o sketch rather than take pictures. The first camera appeared later on, but for most of the war artists sketched for newspapers.
The river ran red with the blood of the corpses floating harmlessly in the now-crimson waters. The stench of death, the rotting flesh of the bloated bodies, and of the battle that occurred just hours before now suffocated those who dared to tread near this god-forsaken place. As a journalist, a war correspondent actually, I have to tread around here. I was sent to follow the Union army and sketch the battles and deaths, as well as anything else of interest for my father's newspaper. Silence only accomplished by the death and feared by the living surrounds me, and I break it with the charcoal in my hand. I sketch out the river in all its bloody glory, the river where the blood of enemies mingle to create such a horrific yet, to me, an inspiring sight. Antietam, the bloodiest battle I've seen since my uncle was gorged by our prized bull and ripped the shreds by his wild dogs. His animals never liked him.
As the light trickles through the trees, I realize that if I don't head to camp soon, they'll think me a Confed soldier and raise an arm to shoot. I'd have to finish the sketch later, so I commit the scene to good memory and head off the way I had come from, to where the soldiers rested and laugh, aware of the battle and blood and death, but forgetting it all to enjoy themselves without regret. They weren't just enemies; some of the Union soldiers had family in the south, and their fathers, brothers, and even cousins were fighting for that side. Most of them were worried about meeting them in battle and knowing that one of them would have to die. I make my way to one of the many campfires around the camp and sit down, setting my stuff down on the side and chatting with the soldiers. They're a tough bunch, but they've got a great sense of humor.
Notes: Set during the Civil War. War correspondents started at this point of time, though they had o sketch rather than take pictures. The first camera appeared later on, but for most of the war artists sketched for newspapers.
The river ran red with the blood of the corpses floating harmlessly in the now-crimson waters. The stench of death, the rotting flesh of the bloated bodies, and of the battle that occurred just hours before now suffocated those who dared to tread near this god-forsaken place. As a journalist, a war correspondent actually, I have to tread around here. I was sent to follow the Union army and sketch the battles and deaths, as well as anything else of interest for my father's newspaper. Silence only accomplished by the death and feared by the living surrounds me, and I break it with the charcoal in my hand. I sketch out the river in all its bloody glory, the river where the blood of enemies mingle to create such a horrific yet, to me, an inspiring sight. Antietam, the bloodiest battle I've seen since my uncle was gorged by our prized bull and ripped the shreds by his wild dogs. His animals never liked him.
As the light trickles through the trees, I realize that if I don't head to camp soon, they'll think me a Confed soldier and raise an arm to shoot. I'd have to finish the sketch later, so I commit the scene to good memory and head off the way I had come from, to where the soldiers rested and laugh, aware of the battle and blood and death, but forgetting it all to enjoy themselves without regret. They weren't just enemies; some of the Union soldiers had family in the south, and their fathers, brothers, and even cousins were fighting for that side. Most of them were worried about meeting them in battle and knowing that one of them would have to die. I make my way to one of the many campfires around the camp and sit down, setting my stuff down on the side and chatting with the soldiers. They're a tough bunch, but they've got a great sense of humor.