The Gift

"Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die, but...while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:7-8

There are things that happen in a man's life that makes him different. I am not talking about getting married or having kids. Those things are great, but they only cause him to grow up and become responsible. Let's face it, the man really doesn't know how to take care of himself, but suddenly he is left to head a family. So he has to change.

What I am talking about is something entirely different. I am talking about something so cosmic or supernatural that happens to him, causing not only a change in lifestyle but in character also. As if a man was heading north and suddenly changes course and goes south. This event is so powerful, it can make even the hardest criminals weep like a little baby. At least, that is what happened to me.

Looking in the mirror, I saw the same poorly bleached, unkept hair. The same goatee and tan skinned face that was Marshall Pruitt. A man hated and despised by most, that is me. Yet, I was not suppose to be alive. I should not be walking freely as if nothing happened. But for some reason, someone migthier than myself decided I should have a second chance. But why? I had done horrible things, ruined so many innocent lives. The only thing in life I deserved was death.

I did my best to get dressed. My black suit needed cleaned, and my white shirt ironed. I carefully studied my hand movements in the mirror as I tightened the knot on my tie. Making sure it was the right length, I tightened it around my neck, centering it perfectly between the collar.

My mind began to go over the events leading up to this moment again. Instead of a tie, it should have been a noose. How had my world gotten so twisted.

****

Staring at the fresh concrete floor in the basement, I was very pleased with my work. Perhaps I had gone into the wrong business, maybe I should go into flooring. Then I remembered I didn't have a job.

Twenty-six years, that is what I had given the factory. How did they repay me? By sacking my sorry hide so they could ship the company to Mexico, saving costs on labor.

Since that moment, my life had went on a downward spiral. One night, I decided to go drown my sorrows at the tavern. The dense smoke and a bottle of Jack Daniels quickly lightened the mood. I even got drunk enough to ask out the brunette on the other side of the bar. It really didn't matter to me what she looked like, I couldn't see straight.

She asked what I did for a living, too drunk to be smart enough to lie, I told her the truth, I was a bum. And gave her the sap story about the company dumping me for dirty Mexicans. The girl, who I still cannot remember her name, laughed in my face. She would have nothing to do with an unemployed failure like me.

I may have been wasted, but I didn't take too kindly to being disrespected. And to make matters worse, I've always been an angry drunk. So, I left the bar and went outside to wait for her. When she finally did, around midnight, I followed her to the car and knocked her unconscious.

After that, I did what comes natural to a man. I took her back to my place and got what I wanted. Of course, I had to tie her to the bed and tape her mouth shut. When I was finished with her, I took the twelve gauge from my closet and beat her with the butt of the shotgun until she was dead.

Five victims later, I got a new basement floor. If I ever got the urge again, I would have to devise a new plan. But that could wait until the time comes.

Grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack, I headed up the old wooden stairs, making my way into the kitchen. I went down the hall and up another set of stairs to the second floor, taking a few swigs as I walked. I continued down the hall, shaking my head as I noticed a trail of blood coming from my bedroom. I really needed to learn how to keep things neat.

Going into the bedroom, I was even more disturbed. I had cleared the sheets off the bed, but there was still a dark red stain on the faded white mattress. Later I would have to burn it.

On the dresser across the room, I saw the red and white Marlboro box. Immediately my brain began to tell me I needed one. With the lighter nearby, I pulled a cigarette out. Taking a puff, I walked over to the window as I exhaled. A thick cloud of smoke bounced off the window and rolled up to the ceiling.

Looking out into the beautiful spring afternoon below, a large van caught my attention. It looked like a UPS truck with men dancing around it. They were carrying something, that is when I noticed they were dressed in heavy black body armor, and packing guns. It was the cops, they must have figured out what I had been doing.

Not wanting to go to prison, I threw the cigarette out of my mouth and darted down the stairs into the kitchen. As I neared the bottom, I tripped over my own feet and fell face first onto the floor. My glasses fell off and were crushed beneath my chest.

With no time to stall, I jumped back up, dusting myself off. My vision was blurry, but I knew this house like the back of my hand. I grabbed the back door, just as I heard them burst through the front. Hearing them rush in, I threw open the back door and headed towards freedom.

I looked out only to see a big black fist coming at me. It thundered into my nose, knocking me backwards and onto the ground. Blood poured from my nose as the cold metal cuffs were place on my hands. I lay still, ashamed and defeated, with an officer's knee uncomfortably placed in the middle of my back. Life as I knew it was over.

****

The night was cold, dark and lonely. There were several inmates across the hall from me, locked in their own cage. But they knew who I was and what I did. Some had hurled insults and threatened my life.

I tried to sleep, but the bed was more like a stone. It was dark in the cell, but just by feeling the blankets, I could tell they weren't clean. Several times I got up to pee in the little can toilet because I was too afraid to use it during the day.

Morning finally came, although I was unaware. Exhaustion had finally caught up with me, and I drifted into a deep sleep, lying on my stomach, arm dangling off the bed. I lay there until I felt an arm shaking me, and heard a voice telling me to get up.

"Marshall," said the voice, "Get up, you have a visitor."

"A visitor?" I said, rolling over to see a blurry image of a guard, "I thought no one like me around here."

"They don't," said the guard, "You raped and killed five innocent women. If I wasn't wearing a badge, I would have already popped a cap in your worthless skull."

"That's good to know," I said, unsure how to respond, "We've all done things we're not proud of." The guard shook his head.

"Your lawyer is waiting for you," he said, placing cuffs on my hands.

He led me from my cell down the concrete corridor to another cell. Only this one was a lot larger. I saw the shape of a table and a man sitting at it.

"Good morning, Marshall," said the man, sliding something to me from across the table, "I figured you might need these. They found yours smashed at the bottom of the stairs."

Putting on the thick black framed glasses, I got a good glimpse of my lawyer. He was a plump, bald little man with a faded brown mustache. He had a brief case open and was reaching in to take papers
out.

"Have a seat, we don't have much time," said the man. Following his advice, I sat down into a hard wooden chair.

"So, who are you?" I said, "You probably already know so much about me."

"My name is Richard Knapp," he said, "I've been a criminal defense lawyer for a long time. In all that time, I have never had a client quite like you."

"I don't know whether to thank you or say I'm sorry," I replied.

"Well, it definitely wasn't a compliment. To be frank, Marshall, I think you are scum," Knapp said. At this point, I realized I was in serious trouble, my own lawyer didn't like me. "I have three daughters, two of them were the age of the girls that you killed. If I were in those parents' shoes, I would kill you."

"Sounds like you and the guard back there should start a club."

"So," continued Knapp, ignoring what I said, "to be fair, all you have to do is sign this and its all over. No trial, no death penalty." He pushed a paper and fancy pen towards me. Looking down at the paper, all I saw was a bunch of legal jargon, way above my education level.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It's a statement saying you are guilty of all crimes committed," He answered.

"Oh, so it's a guilty plea!" I shouted, really pissed. We both knew I as guilty, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my life in prison. "No, I am not signing that piece of trash."

"Marshall, you can't win this case. The bodies were found in your basement. Blood was found on the mattress in your bedroom. Your semen was found in the victims. You see where this is going? That is a portion of the evidence against you," argued Knapp. "Signing this document is the only hope you have of not getting the death penalty." I realized that lawyers were paid to argue, not listen.

"That is a risk I'm willing to take," I said, "You are getting paid to defend me, so do your job. Defend me, find something."

"Marshall," said Knapp, changing his tone to sound more sympathetic. "Please sign the paper." I grabbed the pen and looked at it again. I wouldn't do it. I threw the pen across the room and tore the paper into pieces, launching them into the air.

"Well," said Knapp, particles floating down around him, "I'll see you in court."

****

I sat in the court room, all dressed up, right next to my buddy Richard. The prosecutor, Arthur Powell, was quickly becoming my least favorite person.

"The prosecution would like to call Dr. Melvin Bishop to the stand." A small geeky looking fellow walked up and was sworn in before taking a seat on the platform, right next to Judge Avery.

"Dr. Bishop, please tell the court what it is you do for a living?" asked Powell.

The nerdy looking chap cleared his throat, and nervously began to speak. "I am a forensic anaylst with the FBI. Hearing he was from the FBI made me smile. I was nationally known! Since I was too poor to afford a tv, I hadn't seen all the efforts the authorities made to catch me.

"Dr. Bishop," said Powell, "Please tell the court how the forensic evidence links Mr. Pruitt to the crime."

The little turd went on to explain how I left some of my swimmers in the victims. Then he found Tina Brown's blood, I didn't know that was the girl's name, on my sheets. As well as the others. Powell asked Dr. Bishop a few more questions before sitting down. He was succeeding in making me like like a scoundrel.

I looked at Richard Knapp, it was his turn to get up and present my side. We hadn't discussed any strategy. He hadn't asked me to act crazy, so I was anxious to see his tactics.

"Go get'em tiger," I whispered to him. Knapp looked at me and then back at the judge, making no effort to get up.

"No questions, your honor," He said. My mouth dropped open. I looked at him and grabbed hold of a pen in my pocket, seriously thinking about jabbing it into his throat.

"You suck," I whispered, realizing it wasn't worth it. Richard Knapp was right when he told me I had no shot at winning, especially with no defense lawyer.

There were several more witnesses, but they were not necessary. No one was on my side. So when the jury came back only an hour later, I was not surprised. The guilty verdict was inevitable. Prison lay in front of my, but the question was for how long?

****

I sat there, trying to be expressionless as possible. Each family member was getting a chance to speak a word to me. A few of them told me they forgave me, and they were praying for me. Pathetic idiots, I wasn't sorry.

Of course, I preferred them over the majority. Most of them couldn't wait to watch me die. After the first one spoke, I started to give him the finger, but Knapp stopped me.

Then came the moment of truth. Judge Avery solemnly, almost menacingly, stared at me.

"Would the defendant please rise," he said, building needless suspense. "This court hereby sentences you to death by lethal injection. May God have mercy on your soul." Judge Avery rose the gavel, ready to bring this mockery of a trial to a close. My fate was about to be sealed.

"Your honor, wait," shouted a man from the back of the court room. Everyone stopped and looked at him. The Judge appeared irritated. The man stepped through the gate that separated the onlookers from those at trial. He was tall and muscular, his hair short, black, and neatly kept. This matched his stylish black suit and tie. Just by guessing, he appeared to be of middle eastern descent. Long dark scars marked his forehead.

"Sir, we are ready to bring this matter to a close," said the Judge, "So what ever grievance you have against Mr. Pruitt, please state it quickly."

"Your honor, I have no grievance against this man," said the stranger, "I know he has committed an atrocious act in sight of God and against these families, but I think this man deserves a second chance."

Judge Avery sat stunned. The onlookers murmured amongst themselves, while the victims' families protested. No one was more shocked then me. Why would anyone want that for me?

"Sir," said Judge Avery, finally breaking the silence, "this man brutally raped and killed women. He had no remorse, he deserves death."

"Your honor, this man's fate will be mine," said the stranger, "I will die in his place." The Judge pleaded with the man, but to no avail. This man would be executed in exchange for my freedom.

*****

As I pulled into the parking lot, still confused about everything that happened, months ago, I got out and headed into the state penitentiary. Guilt weighed heavy on my heart. I had killed innocent people, but that didn't bother me. Everyone I talked to had wished me dead, yet that didn't bother me. Even my sentence hadn't bothered me, I had received what I had deserved. But now an innocent man I didn't know was taking my place. He was taking the punishment for my sins. I should be overjoyed, I was getting away scott free.

No matter what anyone said, no one could talk the unknown man out of it. They argued with him, some laughed and made fun of him, while others thought he was nuts, including me. Now here I was, sitting in a little room, watching them strap him to a long table. Peering through the protective glass, I could see his arms stretched wide.

A doctor in a white coat walked over and forced the needle into the man's arm. I couldn't hear him, but the look on his face showed pain. Tears filled my eyes as the man slowly began to fade. And then, he stopped breathing, his eyes went black and lifeless. I put my head in my hands and wept.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw a guard standing over me. He handed me a piece of paper, saying the man wanted me to have it.

Opening it up, I read what it said, "For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life." I had no idea what he meant, but I would search to find its meaning. The stranger had given me a great gift. A second chance at life, even though I hadn't deserved it.

Tale of the Redneck Fishermen

It was a calm and clear August night. The weather was just right, so after I got off work I decided to call my buddies and see if they was up for some fishin.

So I got home and called up my buddy Ben to see what he was a doin’ on such a nice night. I punched his numbers into my cell phone and then called’im up.

"Is this Ben?" I asked when someone picked up on the other end.

"Yep," he said, "who is this?"

"This is Jason," I replied, "it’s a beautiful night, I was thinkin’ about doin’ some fishin’, you wanna go?" Ben paused to think about it, I don’t know what for because it was a perfect night. Nothin could be more important as to miss out on a chance to fish like this one.

"Well, Jace," Ben said, "My mom wants me to go with her in the mornin’ to the mall. And you know her, she likes to git up early and go."

"That ain’t no worry, Ben" I said, "We be back before it gets too late."

"Alright then, I’ll be ready go." So Ben got off the phone and went to get his gear ready. As I was waitin on Ben, I decided we should add another person to go along. I stopped and thunk on it a minute and decided to give my buddy Big Dan a call. He was also up for a good fishin trip no matter how late it was.

Once more a punched some digits into my cell phone and called’im up.

"Dan, this is Jason," I said.

"Hey buddy, what’s goin on."

"Tonight is perfect fishin weather, so Ben and I was a thinkin we’d go. You can come along too if you want."

"Sure buddy."

"Alright, I’ll be right there."

So with Ben and Dan ready to go with me on a fun and excitin night of the unknown, I picked them up and loaded all our gear into my fishin wagon, or for you city folk my pickup truck. Little did we know the near death experience that would come upon us on such a simple and harmless trip.

We arrived down at the lake around eleven, the stars were still brightly shining. The woods hidin the critters surrounded the fishin hoe as the smell of a camp fire filled the air. Over on the other side of the lake we saw group of other fellers there fishin too.

The three of us kinduva watched them there for awhile, fur they was constantly pullin out fish. Almost every five to six seconds at least. Everyone of them was as big as a park bench. Seein as how they was catchin the biggins, we thought we’d better cast off.

I reached into a grocery sack and pulled out a can of chicken livers. Not just any chicken livers mind you, them chicken livers had been sittin out in the hot summer sun fur three days. They was as ripe as a dead possum that had been hit and left to dry on the pavement.

Covering my nose with my shirt, I dipped my hand into the colorless livers and baited my hook up. After carefully choosin the perfect spot, I throwed my poe out there where all the biggins could git her.

The other two followed my lead, and soon we had the bank lined up with our poes. We all thought we was gonna catch somethin for sure. The only thing we could do now was wait for the action to begin.

So next we decided to do what any good fisherman does when they are waitin late at night, we sat up some chairs and built a fire. And soon we was all sittin around the fire tellin stories. Talkin about the president, work, sports, and the important things in life. Havin a good ole time.

After we had been sittin for a goodwhile, Ben said somethin that made me spray mountain dew all down my pant leg. He said "I am glad to be out here fishin, it sure beats sittin on the phone talkin to my girlfriend for two an half hours about nothin, even if we ain’t catchin any fish." Ain’t that the truth, I believe all you fellers out there could agree to this one.

We sat for another while not catchin any fish. Every once and a while we would get a bite which only led to shattered hopes and dreams when the fish got away. About midnight or midnight-thirty, we came up with somethin to keep us busy.

Since we had a nice fire goin and we had some gasoline, lighter fluid, and a secret ingredient, we
was gonna mix them together in an empty pop bottle. So we did, but being the smart feller that I am, I tied a fuse to it so we wouldn’t burn up tryin to light it.

With the top of the bottle embedded in the ground, I dropped the gasoline covered fuse into the fire, but it didn’t want to light. Apparently it had been made of fire retar....retar....fire proof material. So bein the wise guy that I am, I took the can of gasoline and poured a trail from the bottle to the fire. That done the trick, fur the bottle blowed up and shot of some purtty colors, but other than that it was no good.

Since we was good scientists, we decided to try it again. Only this time we doubled the amount of liquids. I wasn’t so smart this time ‘cause I gave the gas can to Dan, who isn’t exactly the shiniest tool in the shed.

Dan poured the trail from the bottle to the fire, but when he got to the fire he stopped too long. The flames shot up the pourin gas and consumed the can. In shock, Dan stood there with a skurred look on his face. Me and Ben looked at each other tryin to figure out what to do.

"Put the can down," we hollered at Dan, while flames was dancin all over his arm. Comin to his senses, Dan put her down. Next, we had to figure out how to put the fire out. I looked about, but couldn’t find anythin. Water was of no use because of the secret ingredient.

Lookin around, the only thing I could find was a bottle of mountain dew. I grabbed it and ran to the flaming can, prayin it didn’t blow up in my face. Bravin the danger, I poured the blessed drink on the blaze. Glory be to God, it put the fire out.

We looked at the can and Dan’s hand, neither of them had any burn marks on’em. That is when we realized somebody upstairs liked us and that mountain dew was a drink crafted by the hand of the Almighty.

So with enough excitement for one night and Dan thankin his lucky britches for being alive, we done went on home wondering what the next trip would bring.

The Way Home

It had been a long day’s march for the men of Company G. Actually, it had been a long hard march for the entire eightieth Indiana regiment. They had covered twelve miles from somewhere north of Willisburg to Mackville. Private Samuel Thacker was glad when they finally had come to a halt.

They had left Louisville just six days ago October the first, covering over sixty miles to where the company was now camped at Mackville. Thacker’s feet were very sore, but that did not bother him so much. What did bother him was an unquenchable thirst. The ground they had covered held very little water. This was largely due to the dry summer that Kentucky had been through.

The only bit of water Thacker had been able to find was in farm ponds along the way. Most of those either had dead livestock lying in it or were full of mud. At first, he refused to drink from them, for fear of catching some unknown disease. But after marching for a while in the hot sun, Thacker quickly changed his mind.

That was not the only thing the soldiers had to deal with. Since Thacker and the eightieth Indiana were fresh new recruits, they had to put up with all kinds of abuse from the veterans. In Louisville it was little things, mostly name calling. But as they march began and continued on for some time, they began to steal blankets and shoes from them. When some of the other new recruits hopped in the ambulance wagon from exhaustion, they were greeted with relentless taunts from the veterans.

Thacker tried his best to ignore them, but as their attacks grew more and more ruthless, Thacker began to detest them. After one had stolen his blanket during the night, he began sleeping with his rifle by his side. He really didn’t think he would have to shoot anyone, Thacker thought the sight of the weapon would scare them off.

Some of the other recruits could not deal with it though. Thacker had heard rumors that several from his company had deserted. He couldn’t blame them, deep down Thacker had wished he had never signed up.

At the time, it was the thing to do in Decker Station, Indiana. Several of his friends had enlisted
to go fight the rebels. They convinced him that it was up to them to defeat the enemy and reunite the Union. Thacker really didn’t want to go, he had just got married and he really wanted to be with his wife Bethany. But his friends talked him into joining.

Thacker looked up into the sky as the sun was just finishing setting. He walked over to a nearby a tree and sat down. Placing his bag and rifle on the ground, he plopped down and pulled off his shoes. He rubbed his terribly sore feet and then reached into his bag. In the bag was a small pan, some matches, and a blanket.

He took the blanket and covered up with it as he leaned up against the tree. Thacker closed his eyes and began to dream of home. The summer fields of Indiana filled with rows of fresh corn entered his mind. Then it wandered on to a little a house in southern part of the state, in the small town of Decker Station, not far from the banks of the White River.

A brown ragged fence stood in front of the house, with chickens running loose in front of it. The barking of his dog Biscuit could be heard off in the background as the mutt chased after the squirrels. Coming from the house was the smell of freshly cooked bacon and the sound of eggs crackling in a skillet, making his mouth water. It had been a long time since he had tasted a home cooked meal. All these things made Thacker long for home, but none more so than the person sitting on the front perch.

On the perch sat a beautiful blonde, blue-eyed angel, gently swinging back in forth. She looked up and smiled at Thacker as he approached the house. He ran and embraced her in his arms, as tears of joy streamed down his face. Suddenly he heard a large boom and everything went black. Seconds later, Thacker felt someone shaking him.

He opened his eyes to find Private Kimens standing in front of him. Thacker and Kimens were two of the six that came from Decker Station, all of them had some how ended up in the same company. He was glad too, because Thacker knew he would not have lasted this long without his buddies being around.

At this particular moment, Thacker was not thrilled to see Kimens. But he knew something was up because Kimens’s face was pale.

"What time is it?" asked Thacker.

"Around three in the morning," said the obviously frightened Kimens.

"Then whatever it is can wait ‘til morning." Thacker rolled over and tried to back to sleep. That is when he heard the same boom from his dream. Then it clicked, the boom was the sound of canon blasts of in the distance, explaining why Kimens was so scared.

"General McCook just received orders to march to Perryville, we need to start getting ready," said Kimens as another canon sounded off in the distance.

A wave of fear came over Thacker. If they would be in battle tomorrow, there would be a good chance he could die. He did not want to die, nor did Thacker want to fight at all. Home is where he wanted to go. Yet he could not go back.

Thacker knew if he went back now, the Union could lose the war. He knew that one lone soldier probably would not make the difference, but if the Union lost this battle it would bring them closer to Indiana. Closer to Bethany, and it was hard telling what those dirty rebels would do to her. As long as he was still breathing, nothing would harm her.

*********************************************************************************

It took them two hours to finally get prepared for the march. In that time, Thacker had learned they were heading to Perryville to engage a large army of rebels that were camping there. Some of the recruits in his unit were excited. They had been training with their rifles for several months and were ready to put them to good use. Others were scared; the veterans had told them stories of previous battles. They told them about the cruel and brutal things that were seen in battle.

One story in particular talked about how one of the commanding officers that was killed. He was giving orders during the battle to the men when the rebels started pounding them with artillery fire. A solid shot from a Napoleon was fired and struck the officer, passing right through him. The shot embedded the unfortunate officer’s innards in the ground several feet behind him.

Thacker was frightened by this story. He could imagine one of those shots passing through him and the unbearable pain that would follow. The upcoming battle frightened him as well. He really was not sure of what it was, but something was making him nervous.

He kept trying to think to tomorrow, about the aftermath of the battle. But something inside Thacker was telling him there would be no tomorrow; that he was going to die today. He hoped it would not be as gruesome as the stories, actually he hoped not to die at all. Thacker had big plans for when he came home. And the thought of leaving behind Bethany, not coming home to see her was almost enough to kill him.

As they began to march, Thacker tried to push the thoughts to the back of his mind. But they didn’t want to be put back. He was beginning to get frustrated when suddenly he heard the song ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’ being played off in the distance.

Thacker quietly began to sing the song to himself. As he uttered the last line, a strange peace came over him. He realized that no matter what happened, God’s truth would march on. If Thacker died, the Union would march on and continue the fight because God’s truth was that no man should be the slave of another.

*********************************************************************************

After arriving in Perryville around nine o’clock, Thacker had been in complete confusion. First, they sat there for a long time doing absolutely nothing as canons and gun fire could be heard all around them. Then around noon, McCook received orders saying that the battle had been called off for the day, but some must have forgot to tell the rebels that because they were still firing. As a matter of fact, the fighting sounded even more intense. Now Colonel Webster had received orders that the eightieth Indiana was supposed to cover the Widow Gibson house.

Thacker tightly gripped his rifle as they marched toward the house. Canon blasts could be heard as they moved forward. Soon, shots began flying over their heads and they began passing bloodied soldiers lying on the ground. The sights and sounds of battle were all around them.

Colonel Webster had them load their weapons and prepare to engage the enemy. He said some words of encouragement to the young soldiers, on the verge of their first battle. After today, they would no longer be the same. They would all know the struggles and horrors of battle, now they would be veterans.

Thacker began plotting on the things that he would do to the new recruits he would come across. How he would steal their blankets or tease them for stopping during the long marches. Then he realized how that treatment, that rejection from the veterans had made him feel. So Thacker vowed to himself never to mistreat the young soldiers, but treat them with the respect he had wanted.

As he stood there, in a daze of his own thoughts, bullets began to whiz past him. Startled by the sudden interruption, Thacker looked and saw a group of rebels approaching them. Thacker looked at Colonel Webster expecting some kind of advice, but he too seemed to be wondering where the enemy had come from.

The moment of confusion lasted only a few minutes for Webster, he quickly positioned his men and started barking out orders. With his hands nervously shaking, Thacker raised his rifle at Webster’s command. Then the command to fire was given.

Thacker pulled the trigger and watched as a line of rebels fell to the ground. He quickly then tried to reload. As he took aim to fire again, the rebels began to return fire. Several men dropped to the ground.

He took aim on another advancing rebel, and fired again, missing a little to left. Another volley from rebels came as Thacker once more attempted to reload. As he went to raise his rifle, Thacker felt a terrible burning sensation hit his stomach. A pain unlike any he had felt before. The rifle dropped from his hands and he collapsed to the ground.

Thacker reached down and felt his stomach. His uniform was already soaked in blood. A burning pain began to go through out his entire body. He began to realize he was going to die. Even though Thacker had no idea where the bullet had hit, he knew that the situation was serious and he was losing too much blood.

A slow numbness began to creep up his body from his feet, as it became harder to breathe. Thacker’s mind began to think back to the warm summer days that he spent working in the fields. He longed to return to Decker Station and sit under the trees and feel the warm breeze that made his fish lining dance as it passed by. He longed to see the beauty and vast array of colors of the Indiana autumn trees. But never more would his eyes be able to behold such things.

Never more would Thacker be beckoned home by the smell of fresh baked bread. Worst yet, never more would a beautiful blonde girl run out to meet him as he came up the dusty road. He would never again be able to feel the warmth of her embrace.

Tears swelled up in Thacker’s eyes and began to stream down his cheeks. A longing for the comfort of home filled his heart. As the world and the sounds of battle around him started to fade, Thacker began to wish for someone to take him home. But in his heart Thacker knew no one would come, that he would die.

Soon each breath became difficult, every one seemed harder than the last. As Thacker struggled to breathe, the darkness and cold of despair filled him. Then, suddenly, he felt a strange warmth come over him, covering his battered body in a blanket. A bright light began to shine all around him, a light so bright that it beat back all the darkness.

From within the bright light a hand reached out to him. Thacker trembled as he reached out to take the hand which looked as if it had been pierced by nail. He looked to see who the hand belonged to, but the brightness of the light blinded him. All he could so was the outline of a man with long dark hair.

Thacker wanted to ask the man who he was and what it was he sought after, but his mouth could not form the words. Then the man placed his hand on Thacker’s shoulder. All the pain amazingly left his body, the difficulty to breath vanished.

"Who are you?" asked Thacker in astonishment.

" Someone who has come to show you the way home," said the man.