Over the rolling hills of Gettysburg lay many souls of the dead. The living spirits of many men, Union and Confederate. At the beginning of the war, we all knew life was not guaranteed. If you wanted to live, you would fight like it. From the first gunshot to the last, you would fight hard.

I had many friends here. That morning, before we left for battle, we all said farewell and good luck, for we knew this would be the last time we saw some of our friends.

As we charged in, you could already hear the screams of agony, the cries from the soldiers next to us. It seemed that moans and screams were all you could hear. I couldn’t even hear the gunshots over that. As I charged, many dead corpses lay among us. I noticed my friends, already dead. I had already started screaming and crying. The moans seemed to keep coming from them. It seemed to keep coming from all the dead, wounded, and hurt. I started shooting before I became a soul, too.

I ran across the field, covered in sweat. Blood already on my hands. I was close to a cannon and took shelter there for a while. Then another cannon blew, I saw the man in front of me fall, but beside him was his head. I stood for a second in horror of what had just happened. I knew I had to fight for him, for my friends, for my family. I ran and started shooting randomly.

I finally saw it was dark and people retreated. So I went with them. Only one gunshot after that was heard, but I didn’t see who fell. I could already hear the screams of anguish from the soldiers’ wives. I listened some more and still heard the groans of the dead, wounded, and now hurt. I saw a soldier gone crazy, running away until he finally just screamed and fell.

Taps was played and it seemed to drag on longer than usual. I cried and prayed for another day, for another time to see family. But, alas, nothing is guaranteed.

I barely slept but I pondered about the future for me. Will this be it? Is it over? Then, I finally slept when the wolves started howling. I scanned over the day, horrified at my own thoughts.

Now you’re probably wondering by now: Who am I to tell about the unfortunate souls, dead or alive? Or am I one?

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