the black robes brushed against him and as the wings grazed his face, an icy pain racked Jonathan’s body. The chill ran as deep as his soul and the lieutenant fell hard onto his knees, doubling over and clutching at his gut tightly. He watched through teary eyes as Death claimed the souls of Blake and the other two men.
“Take mine!” Jonathan shouted hoarsely. “Take me! I’m not afraid!”
“That’s our intent, Yankee,” a deep southern voice said behind him.
Jonathan turned to see a Confederate officer flanked by half a dozen rebel soldiers behind him, rifles leveled in his direction.
“An officer and a gentleman makes for a fine catch of the day,” the bearded southern officer told him.
Jonathan looked away, his eyes searching for the Angel of Death.
The robed figure had vanished. He was alone with his captors and the bodies of his fallen comrades.
He hoped that his men had found peace at last.
Jonathan Rivers began to laugh uncontrollably, ignoring the clutching hands of the Confederates as they dragged him from the church.
In his mind he was writing one last letter to Abigail.
Dearest Abigail,
As always, I hope this letter finds you doing well.
I write this letter to let you know that although the depth of my love and my passion for you has never faltered, I do not think we will see each other again in this lifetime. I have seen too many horrors, too much madness and too much inhumanity to truly return home to you as the same man you saw off to war.
I know I told you that I wish to be there to see your hopes and dreams come true. But although I may not be there beside you, if there is a God in Heaven, then I will always be watching over you. Keep me in your heart and dreams, my love. I will always be with you.
My captors have treated me fairly and promise they do not read the letters of a personal nature sent by fellow officers. Whether this is true or not, by the time this letter finds you, I will have taken my own life. This war seems to have no end, and I cannot suffer it anymore. The Southern doctors here have made it clear without so much as saying so, that they think I am mad.
Perhaps I am mad not to do everything in my power to return to you in the flesh.
But I fear that even if my body were to return to you unharmed, my mind would not accompany it. I would rather you remember me as the man I was before marching off to war. That will be the man that waits for you in the afterlife.
My old companion, Death, is here with me now while I write these words. He waits patiently to collect my soul. As I look into his eyes, I see an Eternity of peace. I will not keep him waiting any longer.
I hold my thoughts of you so dear and you will be the last thing I see as my end draws near.
Goodbye, Abigail. Until we meet again.
Your husband and soul mate,
With all of my love,
Jonathan.
About the Contributors:
Mike Chinakos- Mike is the author of the Hollywood Cowboys series, the Sci-Fi Short story collection, Terminal Horizons, the novella, Dead Town, and numerous short stories published in magazines and anthology collections. He is the cofounder and First President of the Northwest Independent Writers Association. This is his second Steampunk story. You can learn more about Mike and his stories here:
Amazon.com
mikechinakos.weebly.com
www.facebook.com/mikechinakosauthor
FuzzBot- FuzzBot plays American Blues-based Roots Rock with soul and swagger. Straight out of Southern Washington, vocalist/bass player Doug Cox, vocalist/guitar player Michael Burnside, and drummer Steven Daubert, bring that soulful southern vibe to a completely different diversity level with influences ranging from the rock of the Black Crowes to Progressive bands such as Dream Theater, with many stops in between. You can follow FuzzBot here:
www.facebook.com/FuzzBotband
Pixel Smith Digital Imagery- Danny Smith of Pixel Smith Digital Imagery has created amazing art for the book, Terminal Horizons, the band, FuzzBot, Broadway Cigar Company Vancouver, and the upcoming board game, King of the Ring. You can follow Pixel Smith Digital Imagery here:
www.facebook.com/PixelSmithDigital
Letters to Abigail Page 4