For Freedom! For John. (555 hits)
Category: Quotes & StoriesRating: -1 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by <masterofinsanity0.at.lycos.com> (View user info) at 2004-07-11 21:17:20 EDT
This is a short (okay, somewhat lengthy) piece of fiction I wrote that I hope you will enjoy. If you're looking for a good laugh, go see one of MickGinny's posts. I love that guy. Otherwise, read on.
It happened all too fast. Me and my best friend, John, were standing in a very green, misty field amongst strangers who all felt the same innate urge we did - the urge for freedom. That's why we were here. We were ready to stand up and fight. To be honest, John was ready to stand up and fight. I was sure that it would never come to that, but I came along anyway. The way they talked about freedom like that made it sound like it could turn out to be a great new way of life. Maybe I won't have to bust my hands throwing hay bails all day, I liked to joke with John about.
At about 7:00, we were getting ready to go into town for the night when John had said he had heard some shouting, probably from some of those "damn Brits," as he liked to call them. We ignored it, it was getting late and they were probably drunk off either our wine or their own egos. They could be like that sometimes, nearly blinded by their false sense of superiority. Few of them had ever known a good day's work, and you could see it in their eyes. The shouting intensified, and I began to turn toward John to ask if we should go check it out. I knew he must have been bored. I sure was. Before I could even turn halfway around to my friend, I heard a large boom, like the air itself was being torn apart, and the most intense heat I've ever felt in my shoulder.
I couldn't breathe for a few moments, but it seemed that as soon as I caught my breath there was another large CRACK! I didn't understand what was happening. In retrospect, I realize there was a gap in there somewhere. I couldn't think. Luckily, a man came running by. "We're being shot at! We're being shot at!" I started to realize what was going on. Those damn Brits! I started to run to get my musket but I stopped short, vomiting on the grass before me. The pain was unreal. I remembered the time I had been kicked by a timid horse while I tried to bring it into the stables. This was beyond that.
It took me slightly longer than normal to get to the tree I had put my musket temporarily under, but I did get it. I had bought one with a bayonet already attached mainly because John had convinced me I would need it. He had never been more right. That reminded me, where was John? I turned, full-circle. All I saw beyond me were my screaming comrades. Every one of them screaming. I wondered if the whole world could hear our shouts.
I couldn't make out what exactly it was they were screaming, but I watched it flow in rivers from their bodies. I heard their souls scream, "Freedom!" But I did not see John, nor did I hear him. Had he hidden? No! That was not John. Not my John. He never would have hidden. I heard another large boom tear the air around me apart, and my musket flew completely out of my hands. I reached down to pick it up, and I saw him. There was John. He was no longer my John though. This was not the man who I had grown up with. He was not the tall, muscular friend I had known since birth. Through red-stained eyes, I saw the new John. A mere shell of what he had been. I knew then he was gone forever, shot by a stranger not 50 yards away. A cowards fist is his gun.
I could not help but stare down at him. The thought of him gone was too incredulous to accept. It was true though, he was gone forever. As the realization of what had happened trickled in, the sorrow was replaced with rage. The rage was fueled by hatred. I hated the Brits then more than I ever thought one man could hate anyone. One craven shot had killed my best friend.
Though I myself had already been wounded, I tore the bayonet off my musket. The musket was no use and I was no coward. I was not like the people who could just kill a man without looking into his eyes. I ran down the ashen field, everything around me moving at the pace of a lame nigger. Running down the once beautifully green field, there was nothing but blood on my hands and murder in my mind.
I tackled the nearest Redcoat, feeling the blood-stained tears fly off my face as I stabbed the damn Brit. I stabbed him again and again. His screams were muffled by the gunfire and by my rage. My hearing was a part of me I would never get back, but I could still feel.
I could feel the times when John and I used to get whippings for skipping chores, just to wrestle and play. I could feel the time when Aunt Mayble died, and John held me as I cried. He never mentioned that day again. He understood me. To me, John was not just my friend. He was my father, brother, and my role model.
"For freedom!" I screamed. "For John!" I screamed louder. One filthy Brit after another fell before my bayonet. There was another CRACK! And the intense heat hit me again. Another CRACK! And I simply ran further into them. I did not know how many times I had been shot, nor did I care. "Damn Brits!" I screamed, thinking only of what they had done to John. I only thought the more that died, the better chances I had of killing the one who killed John.
Faster than it had started, everything changed. I saw myself staring down the barrel of someone elses musket, smoke trailing out the barrel. I took another step forward, John still the only thing on my mind. I screamed it again, "For freedom! For John!" and collapsed.
User Reviews
Submitted by bargled (user info) at 2004-07-12 01:30:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
BAN FETISH
Submitted by HatMan (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:42:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Haha, I warned ya it was kinda long in the first sentence! Poopieface.
Submitted by Fuckface_Jones (user info) at 2004-07-11 21:29:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Why would I read all that?
Captain Foamy wouldn't read all that!
http://geocities.com/captain_foamy