Ok I guess I'll write now!

~Lucy

My brother did not get injured in the war, surprisingly. He broke his leg by playing a game of hopscotch against his friend.

"Lu!" screams Charlie. The front door is open--I can tell by the way the brisk winds slips in. "Lucy! Max is here. Aren't you supposed to be a good little house girl and fetch us some refreshments?"

I groan and dig myself deeper into our sofa. "Why can't you get it yourself?" I become a bit irritated at his remark. I'm tired of adults always expecting girls to be all dainty and heed everyone's commands and know more about sewing than anythung else.

"Whatever." I hear the stomping of feet as the two friends get some fruit from the pantry.

***

After eating a few quick snacks, they run outside and Charlie quickly draws a grid on the cobblestone ground with charcoal. I tag along just to see what they'd do.

"I bet I can finish ten times faster than you," boasts Max.

"Ha! I could be one hundred times faster," argues my brother.

I roll my eyes and sit down under the tall tree in our backyard. It waves it's long, slender branches in the wind, and its silky leaves gently skim my face.

For a moment, my thoughts drift off to when I escaped my uppity Southern family. I and the slaves waited until midnight, when everything was dark and the only light was from the moon. I lit a latern and calmed the guard dogs, then I unlatched the gate and distracted the human guards. Then we just started to run . . . and we were free. 

Suddenly, I am shook from the memories by a loud scream that pierces through the air. 

I rush over to my brother, who's sprawled out on the ground. His right leg is bent at a terrible angle, and he's groaning like a cow. I can tell his bone snapped in two like crackers.

"I can't-I can't move it," he says, trying to stand up.

"No," I order, "don't move." I take a long, hard stick and some white sheets. Due to my slight knowledge of first aid, I keep him safe until Mother and Father get home.

There's still bad news.

***

"He won't be able to walk alone until several months."

The doctor cuts the taping used for casts and packs up his medical bag. "I'm sorry." He leaves a pair of wooden crutches.

This is bad, I think. Charlie was supposed to be a drummer boy for the Union, and now he can't even stand. The recruiters don't even know he's injured. And he's supposed to be sent off tomorrow.

I didn't really want him to go, but I wanted to serve in the war against slavery. Of course, I'm a girl, so I couldn't. So Mother and Father let my brother sign up. He was so excited to go.

Now everyone's distraught.

But I have a plan.

I'll take his place.

At night, right after I take a bath, I quickly braid my hair into a ponytail and tuck it under a starw hat. I brush some dirt on my face and pack a bag full of supplies. I dress in a pair of my brother's pants and a shirt. They're a bit tight, since he's younger. It doesn't matter, I think.

After everyone else is alseep, I unlatch the gate--I'm running away, again, but this time I'll be back. I hope. 

***

The recruiter, with a stern look and a face hard and cold as ice, burns holes in me as he studies us. I gulp and scrunch up my face, attempting to excel the fact that I look a bit like a boy. 

He steps in front of me, and I try not to blink.

"Name?" he asks, looking down at a sheet of paper.

I think quickly. "Luke," I say finally. "Luke Anderson."

"Age?"

"13."

"But--"

"I'm 13," say again.

He narrows his eyes, and I realize he doesn't like defiant people. "Fine."

And I'm in.

Name: Elijah

Can I join? I'll post my character soon.

@Horse Spirit Girl this is totally off topic but are we going to continue the Ice Star Stables Horse RP? I was one of the riders there and really want to know.  

Mushroom says xmix. She said the closest thing to a real word!  Mix! 

So I'm guessing this is the civil war?

Here's my second post:

Travis~ Because I am the youngest in the regiment, other soldiers take every chance they can to tease me. I decide not to tell them that my father is a rebel, because it might end up in more taunting than I want.

I write to my mother and sisters, telling them where I am. They’d already guessed, of course. The first letter I get from them is full of scolding, but the others are curious and sometimes funny. I send them I tintype of me in my new uniform, holding a rifle in front of a dark backdrop.

We continue to march south, heading for Virginia. It’s late winter, so the roads are often muddy and sometimes not even roads at all, only narrow paths. My shoes wear through and I have to buy a new pair. My uniform gets muddy and ripped in so many places that I have to learn to sew so that I won’t be walking around in clothes that have more holes than cloth.

The snow is another problem. It’s hard enough to march for miles and miles a day, but with the snow it’s hard to walk in the first place. It gets into my shoes and my toes get so cold I can’t feel them. I night I take my shoes and socks off and prop my feet as close to the fire as I can without burning them. My shoes are never dry.

One of the other soldiers in the regiment is a man we called Tree (because of his size) that I know from home. Even though he’s the largest and I’m the smallest, he doesn’t tease me once and is always telling everybody else to let me be. He and I share a tent, and sometimes he even carries both halves for me when we march. He’s the only one I told about my father, and he never told anyone else.

It seems to me that if we don’t get to Virginia soon, the war will be over. I don’t mind much because it means that Father will be home, but I’m been hoping to see the rebels at least once. I hope the war will hold out long enough for me to get there.

Washington: we arrive in the afternoon and the whole city’s just bursting with people. Some are Yankee soldiers, milling around the street, shouting at each other, or singing loudly. The street is packed with horse-drawn carriages hurrying in every direction, people selling things and stopping in the middle of the street to talk. Pairs of men stand at the street corners, red in the face and shouting at each other. Bells ring, horses were neigh, and all the sound muddle together to make a roar of noise.

After we make camp, Tree and I roam around enjoying the sights. We stand looking at shops and signs advertising clothes and food and plays.

“I’ve been here before, years ago before the war started,” Tree tells me as we watch the carriages go by. “It was even better than. Maybe some day when the war’s over it’ll look like that again. No soldiers, no hospitals.” He points to a brick building at the corner. “See that? That’s a hospital. Dozens of hotels and schools here have been turned into hospitals.”

I even get a look at the White House. I ask Tree if I could see Lincoln, but he says Lincoln gets quite enough visitors as it is, pressuring him about the war and how to fight it.

It’s 1862, and General McClellan is in Virginia. Soon we will be, too. I wonder if my father was there. I wonder if he was barefoot like the rebel soldiers I’d heard about. I wonder if he had a proper uniform. I heard the rebels survived on cornbread. I would have liked some cornbread after months of hardtack and beans. Sometimes the hardtack was so stale that I nearly break my teeth on it. Tree teaches me to soak it in coffee to soften it and get the bugs out before eating it.

“I heard this hardtack’s from the Mexican War,” one soldier says. “They didn’t bother to make more when they still have some left over!”

Anthony~

"Father, l-"

"No!"

l step back, spooked. My father is an intimidating man, dark haired, squared jawed, who's dark eyes are full of stubborness and rage. Even though l'm a head taller then him, l still feel very meek around him. l do understand. He doesn't want to lose me to the war, like my brother, Will. He wants me to become a doctor, to do something tame, far away from the battle front. 

But l'm young and l have fire in my blood. The war is where l want to be. Life is too tame.

Father huffs, staring me down with his dark eyes. l look nothing like me, more like my mother, who was tall and fair haired.

"You can't be a solider. You can't fight."

But l want to do something for winning the war! Can you understand? But l know that noting will change his mind. l've talked to him about it before, but he always refused to let me join to Union Army.

Without another word, Father turns around and leaves the room. After his footsteps fade in the distance, Abigail, my sister, slips past the doorway. l just stare at the ceiling, leaning on the wall.

"You know, Anthony, he is right."

Like l needed you to tell me that.

"This came for you." She tosses a letter on a nearby chair, knowing full well that l am ignoring her. l don't need her pity of all things. It isn't going to do anything. With a whisk of shirts, she exits the room.

Ever the curious, l pick up the letter. The envelope is a aged yellow, crinkleing beneth my finger tips. In a fancy hand, my name is writting on front. l do not have many friends, and l don't reconize the hand writing.

l eagerly rip the letter open, pulling out the first page and reading it. At first l am confused. What does this have to do with anything? And then l read through the second page. They are telling me to meet them at a certain place in a few day's time. They hint that it has to do with the army. None of this was said outright, all of it worded as if it could be something else, but l catch what they're trying to say. The letter is unsigned, giving me some doubt. But despite of this, l will be going to meet them. This is the chance that l need. 

Is it too late to join? I don't know a ton about the Civil War, but I'd like to join.