When Angels Cry Blood.

Gerard’s POV

His flesh gripped onto mine tightly, nearly crushing the bones in my hand, and led me down to the damp cellar.
“Gerard,” His sigh was long and drawn out, “I’m signing you up for Lee’s army.”
“What?” I quickly sputtered, totally taking back and aghast at the idea of fighting for the Confederates, and basically just fighting in general. This war was full of blood and hardship and the casualties were insanely high. I couldn’t kill anyone, especially if they were fighting for the North, where Frank and me truly belong.
“You’ve officially dragged the Way name through the mud. We’ve lost all respect because of you.”
“What did I do?”
“Frank.” He said simply. The sun was fierce outside. I could almost feel the intense heat from inside. It wasn’t anything new, though. July was always blistering, fact. It had been two years, give or take a few months, since Frank had came here. He looked almost exactly the same, except for the lack of color in his face and the bruises he had adopted. He got weaker and more tired as days went on. He did the work of a man twice his age. Terrible.

He was the only one I trusted, he was the only one I could rant to when things went horrifically wrong, and all people wanted to do was tear us apart. It made me sick inside, literally. Every time someone saw me and Frank taking a walk after he had finished his days work and gave both me and him a dirty look, my stomach would start to ache so bad that I thought I would get sick just about everywhere. Every time. He’s a slave, so what? Even though it’s inhumane, he does his work. So why can’t we be like normal friends afterwards?
“What about him?” I snapped defiantly. I could feel the dull thud start in my stomach.
Father brought his fist down on the table and knocked over a jar of dried, diced fruits that Mother had been saving. The jar fell mutely to the floor and cracked on impact, sending contents in all different directions over the solid ground.
“We can’t go to town anymore without hearing ‘Donald Way. Oh, he’s the plantation owner with the abolitionist son who is always hanging out with his slaves, ironic?’ I’m getting sick and tired of this. Either you stay away from Frank, which you should’ve been staying away from him in the first place, or you go fight.”
He was waiting for an answer as my body began to go numb. My stomach was practically killing me by that point. If I got lucky, it would.

I figured that I couldn’t stand being on the same plantation, or in the same state even, with Frank and stay away from him. So in the long run, I figured I’d just go fight in the War. Eventually they would force me too anyway. If Father cared at all, he would pay the Federal Registrars or whoever so they would take someone to fight in my place, but he doesn’t, so I guess I’d have to go either way. I knew I would never get to fight for the side I believed in, the North, and that was what was awful about it. I was going to be under command of Robert E Lee, a hero to practically every boy my age and younger in the south. “The best General in this war” was Father’s exact words. He thought I was actually excited to fight with such an infamous man. I didn’t care how infamous he was, I was being forced to fight for slavery. I was being forced to fight for the man that enslaved my best friend and the people that believed it was sickening for him to be my best friend in the first place.