Reimagined: Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
Private Daniels’ right arm ached under the weight of his rifle. Whoever manufactures these guns, he thought, should use lighter materials, or else load them with fewer bullets. On top of that, the sun was in his eyes. Forester, on the other end of the bridge, got to face West, but Daniels had to stare directly into the rising sun as it filtered through the tree trunks. He squinted ahead, and just for a moment, allowed himself to close his eyes. The relief was immediate. Eyes still shut, Daniels yawned, and imagined his tent back at the encampment. He wished dearly to blink and find himself transported back there. Sure, his cot was scratchy and hard, and there were no pillows to speak of, but these days he could fall asleep anywhere. Never again, he decided, would he allow himself to be picked for sentinel duty. He wondered what would be left for breakfast when they returned. Knowing those pigs back at camp, the bacon would be gone, and if this went on any longer the eggs wou...