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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Courage / Heroism
- Published: 11/23/2022
My father's gun
Born 1994, M, from Raleigh, NC, United StatesBilly felt blood spatter the left side of his face as the man next to him had his lower half ripped off by a cannonball. He heard the screams as the cannonball bounced its way through their lines behind him. Billy held the flag, trying his best to keep it straight and level for all to see. The smell of smoke and powder was heavy in the air. He could see the men in red slowly marching toward them. Perfectly formed lines mocking their own staggered lines.
Despite the impending enemy and fear that thundered in his belly, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. He thought of the night he had left his home, how the house had been silent as he had slowly slid his father’s hunting rifle off the wall. He could hear his mother sleeping in the next room, exhausted from work. Her hands were raw from picking tobacco. With pappa gone, it had been up to him, momma, and his sisters to take care of the harvest. But he had known they would never get it all in before the red coats would arrive. Better to let it rot on the stock than let them claim it all for king and country. They all had heard how General Cornwallace was on the warpath straight through their small Virginia town.
Billy, having taken the extra shot and powder from the cupboard, struggled to hold back his tears as he slipped from the house. He felt guilty abandoning his family, but he knew he couldn’t stay. It had been six months since the last letter from pappa; they knew he had been at the battle of Waxhaw, which had all but wiped out the 7th Virginia regiment. Mother was just in denial. He hoped the note he had left them would compel them to flee to his aunt’s house in South Carolina.
He was brought back by the sound of an officer grabbing him by the arm and dragging him forward with one hand, a saber in the other pointing toward the enemy shouting till he too was struck down. Suddenly Billy was walking by himself, exposed several paces in front of the rest of the other men. Feared twisted his stomach in a knot, and he felt his bowels loosen into his trousers. Suddenly both sides opened fire, and he was consumed by clouds of white smoke from both sides. He could hear screams and shouts from all around. The smoke became so thick he could barely see; he felt the bullets whizzing around him. His whole body clenched, ready to be struck down, but his legs kept marching forward. His knuckles were white, gripping the flag pole, and he felt himself being propelled forward by some unknown force.
A blast went off near him, and he was transported to the creek by his home. His heart whimpered at the sight of Joelyn sitting with her feet in the creek. He sat beside her and put his own bare feet in the cool water. She said nothing as she looked at him. They had never spoken, but they had shared many glances during the church service and at the town picnics. She took his hand in his, and Billy was amazed at how soft her hand felt in his. He was transfixed by her blue eyes, half hidden by her wild unkempt blonde hair. They sat together hand in hand by the slow-moving creek, both unsure what to do or say. In the end, not a word was uttered between them. Billy knew then he had to fight. He had never wanted to fight for anything as much as he wanted to fight for her.
Suddenly a breeze blew the vision of Joelyn away, along with the smoke. He was face to face with the red coat line, their muskets leveled on him. He could see their faces. Some looked to be his age. The screams and artillery had faded. He glanced behind him as he realized he was alone; the men behind him had broken and ran in the onslaught. Billy’s heart pounded, unsure of what to do, so he stood his ground and held the flag straight. He locked eyes with one of the boys similar to his age in front of him. The boy didn’t let go of Billy’s stare, even as he pulled the trigger. A crack broke the air, and Billy felt something strike his chest. He heard the officer in front of him calling to hold fire. Billy slumped to his knees, still clutching the flag. Blood poured from his chest as he slowly slumped forward. Regret poured into his heart for abandoning his mother and sisters. He wept as he prayed for their safety. His mind frantically scrambled for thoughts of Joelyn as his life faded, but the creek ran red with blood instead of water. He wished he had never left the farm and that he had taken up his father’s plow instead of his gun.
My father's gun(david hunsinger)
Billy felt blood spatter the left side of his face as the man next to him had his lower half ripped off by a cannonball. He heard the screams as the cannonball bounced its way through their lines behind him. Billy held the flag, trying his best to keep it straight and level for all to see. The smell of smoke and powder was heavy in the air. He could see the men in red slowly marching toward them. Perfectly formed lines mocking their own staggered lines.
Despite the impending enemy and fear that thundered in his belly, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. He thought of the night he had left his home, how the house had been silent as he had slowly slid his father’s hunting rifle off the wall. He could hear his mother sleeping in the next room, exhausted from work. Her hands were raw from picking tobacco. With pappa gone, it had been up to him, momma, and his sisters to take care of the harvest. But he had known they would never get it all in before the red coats would arrive. Better to let it rot on the stock than let them claim it all for king and country. They all had heard how General Cornwallace was on the warpath straight through their small Virginia town.
Billy, having taken the extra shot and powder from the cupboard, struggled to hold back his tears as he slipped from the house. He felt guilty abandoning his family, but he knew he couldn’t stay. It had been six months since the last letter from pappa; they knew he had been at the battle of Waxhaw, which had all but wiped out the 7th Virginia regiment. Mother was just in denial. He hoped the note he had left them would compel them to flee to his aunt’s house in South Carolina.
He was brought back by the sound of an officer grabbing him by the arm and dragging him forward with one hand, a saber in the other pointing toward the enemy shouting till he too was struck down. Suddenly Billy was walking by himself, exposed several paces in front of the rest of the other men. Feared twisted his stomach in a knot, and he felt his bowels loosen into his trousers. Suddenly both sides opened fire, and he was consumed by clouds of white smoke from both sides. He could hear screams and shouts from all around. The smoke became so thick he could barely see; he felt the bullets whizzing around him. His whole body clenched, ready to be struck down, but his legs kept marching forward. His knuckles were white, gripping the flag pole, and he felt himself being propelled forward by some unknown force.
A blast went off near him, and he was transported to the creek by his home. His heart whimpered at the sight of Joelyn sitting with her feet in the creek. He sat beside her and put his own bare feet in the cool water. She said nothing as she looked at him. They had never spoken, but they had shared many glances during the church service and at the town picnics. She took his hand in his, and Billy was amazed at how soft her hand felt in his. He was transfixed by her blue eyes, half hidden by her wild unkempt blonde hair. They sat together hand in hand by the slow-moving creek, both unsure what to do or say. In the end, not a word was uttered between them. Billy knew then he had to fight. He had never wanted to fight for anything as much as he wanted to fight for her.
Suddenly a breeze blew the vision of Joelyn away, along with the smoke. He was face to face with the red coat line, their muskets leveled on him. He could see their faces. Some looked to be his age. The screams and artillery had faded. He glanced behind him as he realized he was alone; the men behind him had broken and ran in the onslaught. Billy’s heart pounded, unsure of what to do, so he stood his ground and held the flag straight. He locked eyes with one of the boys similar to his age in front of him. The boy didn’t let go of Billy’s stare, even as he pulled the trigger. A crack broke the air, and Billy felt something strike his chest. He heard the officer in front of him calling to hold fire. Billy slumped to his knees, still clutching the flag. Blood poured from his chest as he slowly slumped forward. Regret poured into his heart for abandoning his mother and sisters. He wept as he prayed for their safety. His mind frantically scrambled for thoughts of Joelyn as his life faded, but the creek ran red with blood instead of water. He wished he had never left the farm and that he had taken up his father’s plow instead of his gun.
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Radrook
11/29/2022Wow! This is a real masterpiece worthy of any high-quality short-story magazine. The story's vivid imagery immediately drew me into the American Revolutionary War battelfield and into the mind of the young protagonist. The drama was sustained by flashbacks skillfully interwoven into the narrative. The ending had me feeling the regrets of this young soldier who suddenly realized that he had made a very deadly wrong decision. Thanks for sharing! Look forward to reading more of your work. Definitely deserves five stars.
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