Callan Evans Marshall
1861, The Americas. The madness of men still raged. The Sessional War had just been officially announced and my regiment and I knew that this time it would be Hell on Earth. We were going to war across the vast territories that made up America, all because some were incapable of lowering their profits for the good of humanity. Slavery was a heresy and even if going to war pleased no one, it had to end. 1862, The Americas, Forest Camp, infirmary. The pain was unbearable. I had lost my regiment in a crossfire. The general had sent us to our deaths. And that was indeed what resulted. I was riddled with buckshot bullets and I bled to death without the greatest pain. There was nothing more that could be done for me except to shorten my suffering. That evening, as I was about to close my eyes forever, a sharp pain seized my throat, and I sank into nothingness.
About Callan Evans Marshall
1861, The Americas. The madness of men still raged. The Sessional War had just been officially announced and my regiment and I knew that this time it would be Hell on Earth. We were going to war across the vast territories that made up America, all because some were incapable of lowering their profits for the good of humanity. Slavery was a her...Read more