The Lost One (10)

The date was September 17, 1862. It was the day of the Battle of Antietam, the day I felt so dead inside.

Not all of the Union soldiers were kind and refined like William. What a catch that man had really been, when compared to his comrades! The camp smelled of booze and blood. I stuck near to Armel in fear of these navy-clad men.

Finally, I heard what I had been suspecting all this time - a gunshot. Without another moment, men raced for the hills, carrying their muskets. Armel and I followed after them, unsure of what else to do.

"You take the right, and I will get the left!" he decided, parting ways with me in order to space out our strength.

"Please do not leave!" I shouted, though it was too late. Nevertheless, I took up my position on the right, marching with my side of the men.

The Americans all raced at each other. It sickened me to my very core. These men were the ones that were really for their geographic locations and not their full country. Why could they not all just get along?

A soldier in gray approached me, shaking nervously. he looked far too young to be a soldier. "Y-You's a ladee," he remarked, face turning red and his drawl extended further than the reach of Germany from Ohio.

"Of course I am," I replied, patting my stomach. "Go ahead and shoot me."

The lad raised his musket, but before he could attack, I jumped him instantly. It was hard for werewolves to fight as humans, but I somehow managed it. Baring my fangs, I disabled him by biting into his wrist. The musket fell, and I finished the job quickly. Wiping my mouth clean, I moved onto another man.

I had killed six Confederates when I finally saw down the barrel of a gun. One man stood there, his musket raised at me. "You don't fool me," he muttered in his own thick accent. "You jes' a girl. Y'can scurry on home. A battlefield ain't no place fer women."

"I beg to differ!" I hissed, bracing myself. If this man was ready to shoot, I had to be prepared at any time.

Both of us hesitated upon making a move. At last, I rushed for him. With a snarl, I grabbed one of his arms and twisted it downward. The man easily shot me in the calf. I let out a howl of pain, but the flowing blood did not distract me from my goal.

I was surprised when I realized the wound was not going to heal. Had it gone clear through my leg, leaving a hole? I looked around quickly to try to find any sort of assistance from any comrades. No living ones were around. Most of the bodies on the battlefield were lying still. This was the bloodiest battle I had ever seen, let alone heard of.

While I was distracted, my opponent shot me again, this time in my arm. The pain was intense. I fell to my knees, sucking in air through my teeth. As a last resort, I bit deeply into his own leg. The Confederate roared in pain, also falling to his knees.

I struggled to maneuver around, trying to crawl away from the soldier and leave him bleeding. Instead, I was stopped, the musket pointed clear in the middle of my forehead.

My short life flashed before my eyes. I grew up in Germany, where I stayed until I was nineteen years old. I was a normal little girl until I arrived in America. There, I met Alois, the son of a close family friend. He took me in and was so kind to me, so much so that he taught me the basics of English.

Alois attacked me one night and turned me into a werewolf. I began a lonely trek up the Mississippi. It seemed like it would never end. Finally, I was knocked to the ground by Armel, and that was when I met him, Colum, and Estrella, the top "wolves" in Ohio.

I lived with them for a few weeks until Colum finally had to depart. Armel was appointed governor in his place, and the stress of the job really got to him, especially when the news of Colum's death arrived. Estrella was so distraught that she had hung herself. I met William, the love of my life and the first werewolf that I had ever made. He met a tragic fate as soon as we were to begin the rest of our lives together. Armel and I spent our days in mourning until we arrived at Antietam Creek, which would later be known as the site of the bloodiest battle of the Civil War.

As I relived my life, tears streamed down my face. I would not be able to move away. The Confederate soldier took one disgusting look at me and laughed coldly.

At least I was not a coward, not fearing death. I had fought with all of my might and would pass on proudly.

The gun made a loud popping noise.

The date was September 17, 1862. It was the day of the Battle of Antietam, the day I felt so dead inside. It was also the day that I had never felt so alive.

The End

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