Prairie Fire · Writing

PF: First words

May 22, 1863

 

Last night, I dreamt of fire.

Fire, and death. Men lying in the streets, dying as buildings burn around them.

As it has been, so shall it be.

I am so tired of this war. I long for my home.

When I woke, I asked the question I have asked these long years… How much longer?

Yesterday, before I rested, I saw that I am finally drawing near another town. A Pony Express rider told me it is Lawrence, a free town, one that I should be able to find shelter in, where people would protect me, and not put me back in chains.

He meant the chains of men. I thanked him for his information.

Perhaps it will do me good to be among others again. I have spent much of this war hiding, trying to avoid being caught in the many, many battles, but helping who I can.

I pray there are good people there. And I pray they are not the faces I saw in my dreams.

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