When Angels Cry Blood.

Gerard’s Point Of View

General Robert E Lee was wise beyond his years. Even if I didn’t want to, I had to respect him. It was the beginning of July – maybe the 1st or 2nd and most men were delirious from the heat that drained the energy out of everyone. It was the battle of Gettysburg; the entire Confederate Army was eager and motivated despite the temperature. The Confederates stunning victory at Chancellorsville this past May seemed to give the soldiers the idea that they were immortal and undefeatable.

Gettysburg was the first time I took part in Battle. The feeling was indescribable – guilt, remorse and anxiety all mixed into one. It was gradually making me sick. I was terrified of being shot and not surviving. The thought of never seeing Frank’s smile, the smile that can bring out the sun no matter how cloudy it is out, was chilling enough. But, oddly enough, at the same time, I wanted to be killed out there. Killed and forgotten about. Then it’s one less soldier to fight for the South…

I didn’t do much on the first day of battle. The second began early, and I could barely keep my eyes open the entire fight. I would’ve been killed if a soldier from my unit hadn’t jumped in front of it just in time. The thought of a stranger dying for me gave me goose bumps up and down my pale, limp arms. The casualties grew dangerously high over the past two days. We we’re loosing men like crazy. I wasn’t exactly sure exactly how tomorrow was going to turn out, so I decided to write Frank for maybe the final time. I tore a piece of paper from my book of papers I had brought along in case I had any spare time (which I never did) and brainstormed ways to make sure Frank and only Frank gets this letter. I knew my father would never give Frank my letter if it were addressed directly to him from me, even if it was my dying wish.

I finally decided that my last resort was probably pretending this letter was from Frank’s father and urgent. Who knows if that would work anyway? But I figured it was worth a shot. If it was from Frank’s “father”, it would be of no interest to my father and he would probably just through it away, but maybe this time God would be on my side.

Derest Frank,

I prey that all is well with yu. War is teribul; supleyes are at their lowst nd I hav to see men die evryday. Rite now it is the battl of Gettysburg and so farr we hav ben fiting for too days. Who knws wht wil happen tomorow? So I figered I shood rite yu a letter, ‘cuse it jst may be the last one I rite. Jest becuse yer a slave, dos not meen yu shood giv up hope of evur beeen sometin more. And jest becuse yer a slave and I am not, dos not meen we cant be frends, rite? I love yu, Frank. I jest prey that I make it out of here alive, and that this War ends soon, so that we cn be together nd noone can keep us apart jest becuse of our skin color. We kind uv got duble discimnation aginst us, dunt we? We cant be frends cuse yer black and Im white, and we cant ever be married cuse we are men. Its lik God is aginst us. Evn so, yu always hev a shining, huge smile on yer face nd that is another reason why yu are perfct. Wen nd if I get back, I swear we can hev a perfect life togther. Evn if it has to be kpt a secrit.

Nevur give up hope.

Most sincrly,
Gerard A Way.

I reread the letter a couple of times and each time I grumbled quietly about my atrocious spelling. Most of the things I wrote seemed kind of mushy and far-fetched, but it was late and I didn’t have time to rewrite it or fix my errors. The sun had already gone down and I was supposed to be asleep by now. Hopefully Frank gets my letter soon and writes back. I’m dying to know what’s up with him and going through his mind…

The heat was at its worst on the 3rd day. Fighting resumed on Culp’s Hill and cavalry battles raged to the east and south. My thoughts were scattered and my head in a fog. I stumbled behind my unit, almost hallucinating from the summers heat. I struggled to keep up with them. My body just wasn’t working properly today for some reason. I swear that I saw Frank standing with the Union soldiers, waiting for me with an enormous grin and open arms.
Run, my mind told me. I took a step back and thought about it. Was it delirium from the heat or was he really there? Free from the grip of slavery and waiting for me to begin our racism free life together?
He must be there, I convinced myself. My face contorted into a broken, crazy smirk as I dashed down the miniature hill towards the Union soldiers.
“Gerard!” Everyone was screaming. Everyone was confused.
“Are you insane?” Someone yelled. No one dared to run after me.
Pain seized my body as the bullet went directly through my chest.
I gasped out in pain as the Confederate soldiers stared, mouths gaping, at my sudden, insane outburst.

Reality hit me only seconds later.
I was dying and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
I would bleed to death. Even if they stopped the blood, the wound would become infected. They can’t amputate my chest.
I was never going to see Frank again.
To be honest, that hurt more than the torturous sting of being shot.
My entire body was throbbing and aching. I could feel my eyelids become heavy and I slowly and absentmindedly let them droop shut. My entire world was black now.