Trapped In Skorrgatory

Chapter 4

            From that point on it was a seemingly never ending array of wars and his death. One right after the other and he would always felt the pain from getting shot, blown up, or tortured.
            As the smoky canvas that surrounds him transforms once more into another life that he has lived, Stephen knows he wants to gain knowledge on the man he once was and the lives he’s lived. He wished he could go back to the Indian camp and find out more about that dark skinned brave that took his life rather than face being a captive or giving up his ancestors land. He realizes that the curtain has fallen on that life and he will not be able to go back. He still wants to know his name, his real name from that life. The loss of a courageous and beautiful wife was tragic enough still weighed heavily on his mind.

           It is said that a lot of the North American Indians never told their real names since they believed this would bind them into unwanted control or slavery. To know someone’s real name is to have control over them so they often used sur names like Farting Eagle or Squatting Dog. Not really but the though still caused him to laugh out loud and helped distract him. Who would of though that you would still be able to laugh and joke about such things in the after life but you can. After all wasn’t this one huge cosmic play or joke of some kind? At least that is what he has read in the past by various philosophical heroes of old.

          Still he needed to know more about the men or possibly women he once was and started to devise a plan. He would attempt what ghost or spirits are supposed to be able to do. He would try to merge with his former self. Hopefully he would at least be able to see into their minds. Since his surroundings had been something of a large high tech movie scene, he doubted that he would be allowed to control their actions and try to change what has already happened. Really, who can change what once was? It is written that we must all face judgment of all of our deeds. Perhaps this is what is going on. He could only speculate on these things and only after he faced his transgresses would he know what was to happen to him. The thought scared him, but he knew he must be brave. All he was doing was reliving the past.

          When the world comes into focus once again, he finds himself on a war torn battle field. A young solder wearing a white shirt and dark pants runs right through him and takes shelter with his platoon behind some trees near a wheat field. This was the queue he had been waiting for while taking in his surroundings. Stephen tried to grab a hold of the man when he hesitated at the cold and turned his head to see if anything was there, but he never stopped until he reached the shelter of the forest line.

“Let’s try this again” He thinks.

          It only takes him moments to catch up to the solder. Stephen feels his target is at least distracted enough not to worry on even notice a merging. His back is firmly up against a large tree trunk to protect him against the firing squad on the other end of the field and he is loading his musket.

          “If I don’t try it now, it might be too late.” He thinks.

          Trying not to alarm the man he takes his time crouching down and tries to assume the same position the man is in. Their arms an torso mold together. Their legs become one. Stephen still can’t feel anything. Their heads merge. Still there is nothing. Wait! It was only a dismal faint odor at first but it grew. Soon it became almost over powering. Then other smells entered his nostrils as well. It was the smell of a man who had seen too many weary days without a proper shower. That wasn’t the worst of it. Gun powder permeated the surrounding air and burned his nostrils with its fumes.  The cent of death was also present. Glancing around, he could see the fallen bodies of some of his platoon members. Charlie, Zibly, Craig, and Moss had already been shot and lie lifeless on the ground. Wait he knew their names. He remembered seeing them fall. Zibly had gotten hit the worst by taking a shot right to the head. Zibly became the fallen soldier’s nick name since no one could pronounce his real last name. He was glad that he didn’t see it happen. It is 1863 and his platoon is very close to a wheat field near Gettysburg, PA.

          “Stephenson, our platoon’s done fore. We’re surrounded. What do we do?”

          His head jolted to where the voice came from but he quickly found himself dropping to a fetal position. He felt the neck muscles of Stephenson tighten up and turning to face his comrade. “Duck” he called out. The voice sounded strange and alien but he remembered it well. It was like he had gone an eternity without speaking. He closed his eyes and covered his head.

          His musket fell to his side.  And then his whole world went black and he felt as if he was being ripped to pieces. Sulfur and cannon powder burned his nostrils to the point that he lost his sense of smell once again. His hearing was gone as well but he was still alive. Light gradually returned and he realized he could still see.     Looking up he could see David. Yes, that’s right, his name was David. There was something wrong with David. He was looking at Stephenson with a blank gaze only they weren’t in the edge of the trees any more. Stephenson, David and the remaining platoon members had been blasted out of the trees by cannon shot. It had hit its mark and eliminated all of his friends except him. But David was still alive. Stephenson could see the tears dripping across his cheeks.

          David had been mobile enough to unsheathe his pistol. He pulled it up past his chest and aimed for the upper portion of his head and whispered: “They’ll not take me alive.” The sound of the ammunition firing hit him like a lightning bolt. Stephenson realized that his hearing had returned.

          David had left him and he could see confederate solder’s closing in. There was no hesitation and no regret. He had no wife or children to leave behind. True, his mother and father would miss him. He would be considered a hero back home, someone who gave their life to keep their country whole. Even if their names would not be remembered, their bravery will. With this he unsheathed his pistol and despite the pain he brought it up to his temple right above his eye. Then he pulled the trigger and everything went dark in Stephenson’s life.

          “As I fought in the Civil War sometime between 1861 and 1865, my life still had some meaning. I still had purpose and a strong need to protect those close to me. Comrades to the end, we would say. Thank God I fought for a good purpose. To bring the country together and eliminate slavery is a worthy cause to give one’s life. I’m glad we won and pray that our country will never be divided again.”