TL;DR - Write about Good vs Good in the American Civil War. 1000 words max. Deadline of one week. Link to yours in the comments, or not ;-)
For this, in 2012, we had to write about two people Good vs Good. Two people, with the best of intentions, working against each other. One example would be all those families split by the American Civil War, brother against brother.
I decided to put a bit of a spin on this, using two of my fairy-tale characters again, the Woodcutter and Red Riding Hood. And a bit part for the witch. I’ve done several stories using this group of characters - here’s a link to the first in the series, with a bit of background too.
A Bit of Blue
“What about my boobs?” asked Red.
“Don’t worry,” said the witch. “We’ll bind them up. Add a bit of makeup, keep your voice low, and you’ll pass for a Civil War soldier.”
“Until I have to pee,” said Red.
“Just find some shrubs, say you’re shy,” said the witch. “This new role will be a good experience for both of you, and give you a chance to do something different together. Maybe it will fire up some passion in that guy too.”
Her friend, the witch, had managed to convince the woodcutter that he didn’t have to act the same with Red between stories as in them, that they could be more than a strong, silent rescuer and a helpless, naive woman. After 300 years, Red was looking for a little more passion from him, more than ‘just friends’.
“I hope it gets him going,” said Red. “I’m excited about this new role too, to be able to help out in this new interest in Civil War stories. I’m glad the Grimms decided to outsource us.”
“I like the one you’re doing,” said the witch. “So romantic, and yet tragic. Now hurry up, they’re almost ready to start.”
Red and Bruce were getting into character as Sarah and Thomas. They’d met some of the other characters and had skimmed the background notes. Like any of the stories, this one had a life of its own, a plot that had evolved and solidified over the years, that could move itself along. They were more than puppets, though. The story relied on them to add their presence to it. While the stories had brought them to life, they, in turn, used their powers to increase the emotional impact of stories, to boost the effect they had over their listeners.
“What about your, ah, you know - “ Thomas blushed.
“Bosom?” said Sarah. “Don’t worry. I’ll bind it well. And I’ll crop my hair, rub some dirt on my face, and keep my voice low. They‘ll never guess I’m a girl.”
“Nope, I still won’t allow it,” said Thomas. “Your place is here on the farm, not as cannon fodder in the Union Army.”
“And your place is not with the Confederates either,” she said.
“Those are our neighbours,” he said. “We have to stand together against Lincoln and the other Northerners. They want one big government controlling everything we do. It’s against our rights.”
Sarah shook her head, “I think our neighbours are more concerned with their pocketbooks than any federal control. They all need slaves to run their cotton plantations. What about all their rights?”
“Well, Sarah, you didn’t mind all the benefits our daddy’s plantation brought you—the fancy balls, this big mansion. And he always treated our workers like family, why he even let some of the house slaves use his books to learn their letters. “
“But they were still all slaves,” she said. “And hardly any of our neighbours followed his ways. They all said he was too soft.”
“They were just jealous of how prosperous this place was,” he said. “And now he’s gone, little sister. And there’s a war that’s already swept over much of this place and burned it to the ground.”
They’d argued for days over this, hiding out in one of the barns with the few survivors, both convinced they were doing the right thing, both trying to convince the other. Most of the slaves had been let go weeks earlier, when Sarah had convinced Thomas to give them their freedom. Some had decided to stay on anyway, at what had become their home, in spite of her pleadings. Time had run out now, as today they both were leaving to sign up.
“Daddy wouldn’t have wanted you to do this,” said Thomas.
“Daddy always told us to do what we thought was right,” she said. “Besides, I think he secretly had wished for another son. In between all the parties and dinners, he didn’t mind if I sneaked off and traded my gown and parasol for breeches and a rifle.”
“You did become a pretty good shot,” said Thomas.
“One of the best in South Carolina,” she said. “So I’ll ask to be a sniper. That will keep me safer from getting found out as an impostor or from getting shot. Come here, I’ve something for you.”
She stood on her toes, wrapped a blue scarf around his neck, and gave him a hug and a kiss.
“This was momma’s favourite scarf,” she said, “Wear it as a bandana when you go into battle. I don’t want to shoot you by mistake, no matter how much you teased me when I was little.”
Thomas was tired and dirty. They’d been fighting for only a few months, but already he’d seen countless friends and neighbours cut down. Often, the only gain, or loss, was a farmhouse or a small creek. After a battle, the infantrymen would argue around the campfires about whether it was all worth it or not. He shared their doubts himself, but was careful to avoid the discussions—as an officer, he was supposed to treat their words as treason. There had been talk earlier of concessions, of a truce, but Southern pride always seemed to get in the way. His skills and courage had kept him alive and earned him a spot today beside the General, not just as a servant but as a protector, ready to give his life if necessary. Thomas had caught his leg on some brambles on the way to the command post and could feel the blood trickling into his boot. He grabbed the bandana from his neck, wrapped it quickly around his calf, and hurried over next to the General.
Sarah was tired and dirty and had to pee. So far, she’d maintained her role as a man, and as a sniper in the Union Army. It helped that her targets were always far away, as she knew she wouldn’t have the nerve to dance again with one of her southern friends and stab a bayonet in his gut. But even from a distance, she was dismayed at how many died, and how quickly. Dozens were mowed down in a rifle volley or blown apart by a cannonball. The few times she spoke with her fellow soldiers, some were pumped up by their cause, but many were confused and tired. She’d heard from her brother, just once. The same fears and senseless killing on their side, but he said he hoped to move up in the ranks.
She settled down behind her log, sighting her Sharps rifle through a break in the forest. She had a clear view of the Confederate general and his aide. Her orders were to spare this general, to just pick off those around him. It was too far to identify faces, but it was still an easy shot, and the leader’s distinctive hat identified him. She focused on the bare neck of the man next to him and gently squeezed the trigger.