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The fight of Gettysburg was a turning stage of the American civil battle. On the morning hours of July 1, 1863 the fight began. After four times of bloody fighting the Confederates northern-invasion was halted. As I stand in the field protected in fog I question what has occurred here now. The grass now no more green, stained with the blood of several. Men slain and slaughtered to ensure that we could live free. Someone on the far end of the field cries out for help, but I can't bare walk over there and assist him. I am certain he's cut, beat, and damaged but I can't look upon his encounter. As I walk I stage on bodies. On a river is operate by the bottom of blood. In the length of fog a shadow emerges limping. Running more than bodies and through the river of bloodstream, I begin crying as I hurry to his side to greatly help him. Wounded with a deep gash, gushing blood still, on his back again from a brutal strike from the enemy, he collapses before he is reached by me. In his last breath he cries out in a loud clear voice to ensure that all can hear, even the dead "We are victorious!" soon he's devoured by the fog and his bloodstream runs with the others.