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I made it.
I am home. Home to my farm. I have lost all 5 of my friends. I have been forced into war. I killed somebody. I am not the same person anymore. Marissa says I'm always silent, Mother says I lost a part of me, but Lizzy says she's just happy that I'm home.
I will never fully get over it. But I am home now. I appreciate it. I will never fully adjust to my home again. But I can try.

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A HISTORY OF US - 16: The Soldiers
“Life of the Civil War Soldier in Camp.” American Battlefield Trust, 19 Oct. 2017, www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/life-civil-war-soldier-camp.

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I can't hold it in any longer. Here is what happened. This is what has been bothering me for months and months.
I am no better than them. I was with Tom in the woods when a soldier burst into the clearing. It took a minute for us to realize that we were not on the same side. Tom reached for his weapon, but it was already in the soldier's hands. He shot Tom. And I could only watch. As he turned towards me.
I grabbed my gun and I shot him.

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I have to say something. I can't take it much more.

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It's strangling me. The secret, the thing I hide. It's going to kill me.

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No one knows what happened. I will never have to tell anyone. It never happened.

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I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't mean to.

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I hear them talking. Talking about their kills. I hear Tom join them. It's my greatest fear. That someday, I will become like them.

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Tom killed someone today.
I'm sure he's done it before, and I've seen lots of death on the battlefield, but this is a first. I've never seen Tom kill anyone. He didn't even seem to mind.
What has my friend become? Will I be like him too, someday?

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It's freezing. I can barely sleep most nights, with how cold it is. And on the nights that I do sleep, it is only for a minute because the nightmares wake me up soon after. I have to march tomorrow.

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In camp, all the boys talk about how heroically they'll meet their demise. I do not think they realize more people die from sickness than battle around here. Some of them talk about their shots and kills. I cannot imagine doing anything like that. Ever. I have managed to go without taking a single life. I would like it to stay like that.

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I have stopped counting the days. It is nearly fall again. I could ask the date, but I don't know if I care. I have seen so much death, so many things. I can only be grateful for food, water and Tom, my last and only friend. I can now understand what has been plaguing him ever since he saw me. The horrors of war. It's gotten to me too.

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I have not been writing as much i barely have the time i have been very busy Now i have experienced marching and the marching rations I dont know what to think i did not like it i want to go home. oh hes calling again i must now go.

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It has been over ten years. I am not a child anymore, but I am beginning to once again feel like one. I cannot believe that they have returned. The nightmares, that plague me every night. My father died in a war, which is probably from where I get my fear of it. When I first heard about this war within our country, I was not afraid. Our army would shut down the rebels before they could even begin to advance.

Many of my friends felt the same. But they, unlike I, wanted to have a chance to fight the rebels. The group of my five closest friends all decided to enlist together. Jim, kind of like our leader, tried to convince me to come as well. He said that this was the way to become a true Patriot--fight for our country.

All the other boys of town and the neighboring farms decided to do the same. Most of them have fathers to take care of their farms while they’re away. I told Jim that I couldn’t leave my mother and my sisters; whatever would they do without me? But they are capable. I knew that this was not the truth. I did not wish to admit to Jim that I was terrified of war.

I can only hope that the war is not too rough on their souls. For if it comes to the choice between having to kill to save your own life, or you yourself dying, I do not know what would be the desirable option.

Just another ordinary day at the farm today. I saw a couple of others go to enlist during my time in town gathering supplies, but not a word from my friends. I do not know what has become of them, but I can only hope that they will return home soon.

Letters came in today.

We were all anxious, to hear about the rush and excitement of the war. Families who had not heard from their children in weeks were pushing for the front of the line. Fathers, brothers, husbands--letters from people of all relations came flooding in. Everyone wanted to hear words about the war.

It was so much worse than I ever could have expected.

Tom’s mother, when she read his letter, burst out into tears. She was crying so hard, we couldn’t understand what she was saying. We had to take the letter from her to read it, and we were horrified by its vivid descriptions. About the terror of death lurking around the corner of the dawning day, the boredom, the starvation. Other letters told the horrors of taking a life. It is a fate I would never wish on someone. It is truly a nightmare. I cannot imagine my best friend--funny, witty, interesting Tom--ever having to go through something like this.

I am now more than ever glad that I declined the offer to sign up.

Guilt sets in.

Every day now, I go to bed with a heavy heart thinking maybe if I’d have worked better, harder, to prevent my friends from enlisting, all would be well. I try to think happy things, like how at least I am here to stay behind, at least I do not have to share their fate. But these thoughts only make me feel selfish and worse about myself. I do not know what I should do. What can I? I move through the tiresome field chores, barely even thinking anymore.

I awoke to the sound of Marissa crying. It is Sunday, and we do not work on this day; not as much, at least. Our family does not go to church, so it is mostly a sleep-in day. But Marissa, she had awoked early to go see her boyfriend, Bryan, only for him to break the news that he would be leaving.

Yet another war victim. When will it end? And he’s left Marissa and his family affected, too. I could never imagine leaving my family. She came to me, and made me promise that I would never, ever do such a thing. She said, "Imagine how Lizzy would be if you were to leave. It would destroy her. You know you are the light of her life, of all of ours, and we can't do without you." I had often heard my sisters talk about me and how I was funny, and nice, and great around the house and the farm, how lucky they were to have me. But I never realized how serious they were about that until now.
So I promised. What else was I supposed to do?

It has started.

The draft, taking victims left and right. Today little David, barely eighteen, was informed that he had been drafted and must now serve in the Union army, leaving his family behind. His mother, his father and his ten-year-old brother. I don't know how they'll survive. I don't know how any of us survive.

I leave today.

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Life drags on.
A lot of the soldiers are asking when we'll be in the front lines. I do not know. I only hope the war is over before I ever get the chance.

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It is a miracle!
I never expected to see a friendly face in this sea of boredom and anticipation. Everyone wanting to try it out on the front lines. I was used to doing my tasks alone, not speaking even if I was with someone. But yesterday morning, as I was getting my food, I spotted Tom, one of my friends from back at home.
It is terrible. He said all the other four boys who came with him all perished in the war. Tom was always sort of the baby of our group, the "innocent" one. Now, looking at him, he didn't seem innocent at all.
Still, I am glad we found each other. Camp life will be easier once I have someone to talk to. Even if he is a bit more reserved than I had ever seen him before.

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Life at camp is hard. It's even harder to do without a friend by my side. Back at the farm, I was always working with either my mother or my sisters. I have never felt so lonely. Most of the men here have been drafted, same as me. Maybe a brother or father wrote home to describe the horrors, and changed their mind about enlisting. Or maybe they never wanted to go in the first place. Like me. Either way, it doesn't really matter. We're here now. There's nothing we can do about that than what they tell us.

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I have arrived.
In our camp, it is at least better than I had anticipated. There is bread and water, and though I am hungry, it is not all that bad.

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How Did the Civil War Affect Your Daily Life?

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How Did the Civil War Affect Your Daily Life?