The Night Before Lit Gunpowder

         The night was unlike that of any other night that the men in the camp would ever experience, if they managed to survive to the next one. The camp sat just behind a natural wall on top of a hill that the line had managed to sneak into during the day, under the cover of growth. Nearby, no more than a mere half of a mile away, was the enemy, their camp surrounded by a palisade. The torches strewn closely together on the walls of the wooden fortress caused it to glow as if it was still bathed in the light of the day, the light standing out in all the darkness of the black night creating an haunting, imposing image when viewed from the camp in the hill. Inside the camp, a soldier stirs awake in the dark silence, only broken occasionally by a snore or the sounds of guards walking by; not even wild life dared interrupt the invisible fog that seems to have enveloped the entire region. The soldier looks around his tent, the darkness frightening him as a sense of blindness comes to him. He frantically searches his tent for his flint kit, the footsteps striking dread into him as he believes them to be the enemy's infamous "rogues," men who have been known to be able to slit a throat in plain sight and still not be noticed. With sweat pouring down his face he searches his bag until a tiny click is heard, and with momentary relief he pulls out his flint kit. Then, without warning, he hears the folds of his tent that serve as a door fly open and a muffled scream escapes his mouth as a hand clasps over it.

         "What tha' Hell da' ya' think ya' doin', lad!?" A voice inquires of the soldier. The soldier is suddenly relieved, to know at least the footsteps were those of guards, but is suddenly realarmed when he realizes that right now he has alarmed one of them. "Ah'... Tha' dark scared.... Ah' thought tha' footsteps... Ah'..." The soldier tried to get out, unable to choke up any coherent speech in the prescence of someone who could punish him however they pleased. The soldier was surprised, however, as the guard released his hand and let loose a sympathetic sigh. "Loo', lad, ah' know yer afraid, Hell, ah' was afraid tha' night befir' my first battle. But ah' can't have ya' acting like some daft woman, tryna' light up because ya' canna' see where tha' damned bread is. Get some damned sleep, yer gonna need it." He told him, before closing the tent folds. The soldier sighed, so much was going on in such a threatening place. At least, it seemed like too much. Never before had he actually known the feeling of knowing that death could lie just beyond reach, and never had he anticipated to ever be drafted. He shouldn't have even been drafted; his brother was due to be drafted, and he damned well deserved to be out here instead of him. The soldier sighed once more, before lying back and trying to fall asleep once more, hoping he lives to sleep again.