Bullets by Presto

        Authors note:

I tried to come up with a good story following my original idea, but i could never get to far into it.  Then i thought back to the memory exercise we did, and used a memory of the Janie furnace Festival that we would   have every year back in my hometown of Ohatchee.  I then asked what would happen if one of those bullets during the reenactments were real.  This led to the creation of this story.  I liked the idea of the story, but I worked myself into a blank spot.  I’m not exactly sure where I should go with the story from here.  I know Elliot will wake up in the hospital, after suffering from a gunshot wound and an infection as a result, but that I don’t know what exactly should the character’s growth from the ordeal should be.  I also have a problem with my setting and characters.  To me they both need to be flushed out more, but I’m not exactly sure how I want the characters to look like without them being stereotypical characters.  Rob will make a reappearance by the way.  I’m not sure if my dialogue and action mixed well.  I also worry about my battle scenes.  I have never done a battle scenario so this is a first for me.  I would like some tips to improve it.  Thanks for your help.

    I could see them coming from the other side of the hill.  A sea of men, around two-hundred strong, their dark blue uniforms matching the rich color of the waters of the Mobile Bay; just as my company’s gray uniforms matched the smoke of the pig-iron furnaces. Ornaments hung from their chests glimmering gold in the summer sun. 

            We raised our muskets to our shoulders and took aim at the battalion that stood before us, and they in turned did the same.  The captains of the two army’s marched out of the ranks, sabers and faced one another. 

            “Now the captains the North and South troops are about to engage each other in vocal combat, trying to get the other to surrender.  After this, the two sides will begin to fight,” said the announcer sitting on the podium on the side of the field.

            The crowd of people sitting on the makeshift bleachers gave a few “Oohs,” and “Awes” at the thought of the carnage that was about to come.  A few even began to clap and root for their favorite side.

            I was more than pleased to hear over half of them rooting for the Confederates.

            “Lets give them a good show, Elliot,” said the soldier next to me. “We don’t want them to be disappointed in the South now do we?”

            “Don’t we always, Robert.  Fire a few shots here and there.  Drop dead in a few places.  Add some yelling and cannon fire; then they go home happy and comeback the following year.”

            “You make us sound more like magicians rather than soldiers.”

            “Actors, Rob.  We’re actors.”

            “Maybe, but—“

            Whatever he was about to say was cut off when the captains began their lines.

            “Go home.  There is no room or need for you or your Yank lot down here Piron,” called our officer.

A few whistles from the crowd reached my ears.

“Surrender now Clenton and we may you the humiliation of a defeat at the Union Army.”

A few boos and you tell thems answered his call.

“Anten Furnace will fall to the hands of Yankees when the blood of me and my men feed the flowers from our stone dead bodies.”

“So death it is.”

I stepped to the right to allow the captain passage through our ranks.

When the captains reached the rear of their respective troops, they called out, “To arms.”

“It begins,” said the announcer, while the crowd went silent in anticipation, and mothers covered the ears of the young children to protect their ears from the noises that would soon start.

Somewhere on the Union side the first shot was fired and all hell broke loose. 

Both sides began to fire on each other; one or two men would drop after each volley of fire.  I went with a group that charged into the middle of the field to engage the Union troops in sword combat.  With each swing I tried to take down my target.  Some blocked with their swords, and would quickly counter.  As we had rehearsed, I would jump back at these jabs, and follow through with my own, striking my opponent in a fatal spot, and they would fall.  I did this five times, and then moved to my spot next to the rock to await for the gun shot that would take me down.

Like what was expected, it came right on time, but what was not expected was a sudden blinding pain to rack my body.

I fell to the ground in shock, letting out a scream, but it was lost among all of the other yells of fallen soldiers.  My gloved hand went to the right side of my gut, where the pain originated from.  When my fingers prodded the area, a sudden feeling of electricity shot from it and up my spine to my head.  My mind fogged up from the pain.

I lifted my hand back, already knowing what I would see.  Blood coated the gray glove. 

As my mind began to grow dark I heard someone call out, “Live round, live round.”

Whether as a result of the yelling or the blood loss the area went quiet, and then I blacked out.

            Warmth was the first thing that I noticed as my mind started to come too.  It surrounded me all over.

            No, not just around me, but inside me as well. It felt like it was inside my veins flowing through them and into all the nooks and crannies of my body.  It was comforting, like covers that just came from the dryer.  I had almost been lulled back to unconsciousness when the warmth began to heat up even further. 

            It started from my left wrist and flowed from there to my chest, and then to the rest of my bodies. No part of me felt cool, my body was burning from the inside out.

            I felt a cry attempt to leave my lips.  I tried to call out for help, but it felt like something was stuck in it. 

            My eyes sprang open in order to see what in my mouth; only for bright light to force them to shut again.  It burned my eyes almost as bad as the fire in my veins was burning my lungs. 

            My hand reached up to grab at the intrusion, but was met with resistance.  About halfway up something snapped around my wrist.  I tried to pull my hand free, but either the thing that held my hand was extremely strong or I was very weak.

            I lifted my legs up to try and kick at the thing that held me.  My foot made contact with something, and then my hands were free.  I moved to roll over, but again my hands were locked down, and so were my legs this time.  I refused to give up.  I wiggled any way that I could, but the iron like hold of whatever was pressing my limbs down refused to give any room.

            A pinch in my left arm, just above my elbow, made struggle even more against my restraints. Still there was no give.

            The only change seemed to be the area where the pinch took place; a coldness entered my body.  It followed the same path as the burning.  Where it went, the heat began to die down until it was no more than a flicking ember.  Following the cool relief, was a numbness.  I went through my body, to every muscle and joint, and shut it down.  I could not move no longer how much I tried.  What scared me the most was the fact that I began not to care.  I just wanted to float away on the numbness and go back to sleep.  My brain couldn’t offer any reason to resist it. 

            Once again I began to fall unconscious.

           

            Noise filled the air.  Gun fire rang out, followed by the low boom of cannon fire.  Groups of people met in the middle of the large field, exchanging sword strokes and blows, some hitting and missing there targets.

            Men on both sides began to drop down, as if they had died.

            The announcer on the platform made commentaries here and there about how one man had just shot another with a musket, or how a certain group just fell to cannon fire.

            “Mawmaw, why are they fighting,” I  asked the older woman sitting on the bench next to me.

            “Because they don’t get along with each other,” she had said.

            “Why not?”

            “Both sides had different views on how the country should be run.  One side felt their opinions weren’t getting heard and got mad.  They then separated themselves to form their own country.  The other side didn’t like it, and tried to ignore that decision.  Somewhere along the way shots were fired and the Civil War started,” she said while never looking away from the field.

            “Oh. Then shouldn’t someone go up them and stop them.”

            “No sweetie.  They’re just acting out a battle.  It’s like a show, but we actually get to watch it in real life.”

            “Acting out a battle?  Why would they do that,” I asked. 

            The sounds of gunfire and cannons began to slowly fade away as just a few men on each side were left standing.  They began to run together in a final bout.

            “To keep our history alive, and so we never forget where we come from.  Each one of these battles real men fought and died to protect their believes.  Now we honor them by not forgetting their sacrifices.  By not forgetting we find connections to our past and use them to make our future. Like for instance your great great great grandfather actually fought in this particular battle.  Right now though no one is playing his role because there is no one related to him among the actors.”

            “So I could play him then?”  The idea of playing my grandfather among those men was an interesting thought to me. 

            “You could one day.  But first, you need to grow up some.  I doubt a five year old could handle a musket,” she said as she placed her hand on my brown hair and ruffled it.

            Just then a trumpet sounded at the last soldier on the blue side fell, and the announcer yelled out “The Union soldiers had fallen and the Confederates have won.”

            The crowd stood up and cheered for the soldiers, the winners and the fallen.