GARRISON AMBUSHED! FORT DEARBORN BURNED!

 

Dear Journal

by Anesia Bolling

Dear Journal,

Since I was six I helped my mother at wartime with medical runs. We would get tons of supply {supplies}, run out in the line of fire and save dying men. Now that I am sixteen, I have my nursing license like my Momma, but I can only remember how I learned {earned} my license…..

It was during one of the British wars with the U.S.A. Me and momma had to go to Fort Dearborn because the sergeant had been shot and needed medical attention. Once we arrived we went straight into action. Pulling out the bullet, and sewing up the hole in his arm. It was a speedy recovery for him and not much blood was spilt. The very next day at lunch was a moment I will never forget. After hastily passing out food to the soldiers, I was given a brief breakfast to eat. I sat down and sat highly tense, because I noticed something in the trees. I looked at all the soldiers, their eyes bewildered, and they were looking directly at me…or next to me. Turning my head I noticed a wooden axe had been buried deep in the wall I was seated against. The decorations {?} reminded me of Cherokee Indians but I knew they were peaceful people. Not believing in violence. They came out of the trees like a hurricane over a city. Their clothes told me my question was right. They were not Cherokee but Sioux Indians. They wasted no time, violently smashing in our soldier’s heads. The soldiers tried to quickly retaliate but they were slightly shocked and highly unprepared. I ran hastily looking around for my momma so we could leave. Avoiding axes and knives as I went I found what I was looking for. I screamed loudly, my soul breaking as I watched an Indian slit my mother’s throat. I crumbled down to my knees, not wanting to run. Basically accepting the fate I had been given {?}

The man started towards me, knife held at a wild and dangerous looking angle. I was starting to loose focus, only being able to look at my mother’s once beautiful face, forcing me to look at him and he stopped. Wildly looking in my angered eyes I wonder what he sees? My uncontrollable anguish, my imminent fear, or maybe just sees my black hair and blue eyes. I never got my answer, because he let go of my face and strongly placed me back upon my feet and said quietly, “Run.”

So I did. I ran and ran into the woods, then the river road crossing, then an open field, and back into deep bush and thick trees. Only then did I fall on my stomach, crawl into a tight ball and cried until the night stars filled the morning sky. The world sickly silent. Suddenly I was no longer in utter pain. Now I wanted revenge.

 

Ethereal 

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