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Thursday, April 12

Blog #3: After Antietam

                The young man didn’t cry as the Jared began to saw off his arm. He’s in a shock of sorts, unable to feel or process what is going on, Jared noted. Well, give him some rest and then he’ll be fine. “It’s over, sir. I’m going to wrap a tourniquet around the stub now, ok?” Jared Melbourne hated his job in the army. He hated blood. He hated the tortured, horrendous banshee screams and despondent moans his patients made while he helped them depart with their various body parts. But most of all, he hated the fact that he had to deal with these things until the war ended. Jared had been drafted out of Maine towards the start of this year, but was too overweight to fight in the war. Consequently, he was now stuck in the position that some came out of crazy. He had gotten used to the agony, in a sense. Even so, Jared seemed to be able to feel the pain of the patient with a fresh sting every time he operated.


“Sir, the procedure is over. Sir?” The boy showed no signs of comprehension; he just stared up into the top of the tent. Jared shivered at the plain, inhuman expression on the man’s unblinking eyes. “Aaron. Come look at this.” His newfound friend lugged over. “Looks our bud here is dig’no-esed with a usual case of a thousand-mile stare,” Aaron indicated in his deep, unique Yankee accent. A thousand-mile stare. Whatever the kid had, it wasn’t a disease Jared had ever heard about. “Get someone to take ‘em back to his quarters an’ lay ‘em down all nice and dandy.” Jared called over the 2 soldiers who had brought him back from Antietam and passed the “starer” onto them. Something about that man had hit him hard. He seemed so at peace in his unnatural silence…huh, Jared pondered. He began to wipe up the blood that had splattered against his uniform.

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