Posts Tagged ‘civil war’

Five Sentence Fiction: Story Time

In Fiction on August 19, 2012 at 12:47 pm

Caleb set down his drink and gave the negro a hard, searching look; in the silence, the sounds of the night seemed to swell outside the window, pressing in on the cabin.

“I ain’t saying I’m ungrateful for the offer, doc, or for what you’ve done for me here, but you’ve gotta look at this thing realistically: a negro and a cripple against an army?  What exactly would your plan be?”

“First I’d educate you on my name, so you can stop calling me negro,” the negro said sharply, but he smiled just the same, “and then I’d tell you how I come to find myself in this place, at which time I suspect my plan will be clear enough.”

Caleb sat up in the bed and propped his pillow at the small of his back, never once taking his eyes from the doctor: “Well go on then,” he said at last, “I ain’t going nowhere.”

***

The Story So Far…Five Sentences at a Time

Chapter 1

The fog crept across the plain, wispy and wavering like a line of ghostly scavengers stooping low to inspect the dead. Caleb felt the dew it had deposited on his eyelids – cold, liquid coins — and awoke, sorely disappointed to find that he was still alive.

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Walkin’ in the Old South

In Travel on August 15, 2012 at 1:54 pm

If you’ve been following my Five Sentence Fiction story over the last couple of months, you’ll know that it takes place in the Civil War-Era South. And if you’ve been stalking me lately, you’ll know that, coincidentally, I’ve also just moved to Atlanta.

Well, over the weekend my girlfriend and I got out of the city and went for a hike at Sweetwater Creek State Park, where the trails took us on a bit of a historical tour – one that turned out to be oddly relevant to my story.

Sweetwater Manufacturing Company, Georgia

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Five Sentence Fiction: Freedom

In Fiction on August 11, 2012 at 5:57 pm

“I’m your enemy– why would you ever want to help me?”

“Death is my first enemy, Confederate – with injustice a close second, on account of my humanity; that puts you at a distant third, and figurin’ on what I heard in the street – before your Colonel tried to cut you in half, that is – you’re no more a friend to the Southern cause than I am.”

The negro poured two tumblers of a copper-clear drink as he spoke, stoppered the bottle and handed a glass to his patient.

“I’m no traitor,” Caleb urged, taking the smoky-sweet bourbon nonetheless, “and the Colonel’s cause ain’t the Southern cause; the Southern cause is freedom.”

“If four million in chains is freedom to you, then could be you’re my enemy after all.”

***

The Story So Far…Five Sentences at a Time

Chapter 1

The fog crept across the plain, wispy and wavering like a line of ghostly scavengers stooping low to inspect the dead. Caleb felt the dew it had deposited on his eyelids – cold, liquid coins — and awoke, sorely disappointed to find that he was still alive.

Read the rest of this entry »

Five Sentence Fiction: Enlisted Men

In Fiction on August 4, 2012 at 7:05 pm

Caleb thought on that: to kill the man would be sweet, he had to admit, but one death would not make a victory; Colonel Grammar had allies, not just in the south but in the north as well, and their plans would go forward whether the colonel lived or died. Meanwhile, the death of every landowner, every distributor, every manufacturer, was a boon to these men. The battles would rage and countless innocents would die as the traitors waited, north and south, writing up their contracts and parceling out the future spoils.

“One hand doesn’t make a soldier,” Caleb said at last, defeated, “any more than one sword makes an army…”

“What about two swords?” the doctor asked, and he smiled.

***

The Story So Far…Five Sentences at a Time

Chapter 1

The fog crept across the plain, wispy and wavering like a line of ghostly scavengers stooping low to inspect the dead. Caleb felt the dew it had deposited on his eyelids – cold, liquid coins — and awoke, sorely disappointed to find that he was still alive.

Read the rest of this entry »

Five Sentence Fiction: A Sharp Retort

In Fiction on July 8, 2012 at 4:43 pm

Colonel Grammar’s sword was out of the scabbard before Caleb had finished speaking, moonlight glinting on its honed edge – winking in the eyes of the skull etched in its ivory pommel.

“D’ya mean to frighten me, boy?” he said, stepping closer, dragging the tip of his sword on the hard ground. In an instant the blade flashed, and Caleb felt it bite, first at his left hand and then at his right, deep as bone, cutting a line up his forearm and across his chest.

Blood seeped through his linens, and Caleb staggered.

“Let me offer you a piece of advice,” Colonel Grammar said, circling as Caleb sunk toward the blood-speckled ground, “when you aim to kill a man, don’t give him so much as a word of warning, let alone a goddamn lecture.”

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The Story So Far…Five Sentences at a Time

The fog crept across the plain, wispy and wavering like a line of ghostly scavengers stooping low to inspect the dead. Caleb felt the dew it had deposited on his eyelids – cold, liquid coins — and awoke, sorely disappointed to find that he was still alive.

Read the rest of this entry »