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The Reflections of a Revolutionary Boy

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The Reflections of a Revolutionary Boy

  It was my time in this patriotic period whereas boys we must defend our freedom, with the sound of the elder men screaming about the redcoats piercing our ears. It motivated many of us young boys to take up our arms and join this revolution. I happily took the training that my father had instilled upon me to use this rifle for hunting and to track wild animals for survival, at a time when food was scarce. I now track my fellow man like the bison, deer, or elk because of the colors he now wears. This revolution is not a making of a man or ensuring that I will be the patriot that I thought I would be, it is the title of murderer for me. I am covered by my fellow man’s blood, who is not much older than me. I at the age of fourteen have seen many realms of hell, all in the name of liberty. The boy I was, have perished like many of the boys that bore the colors red. I ponder if they ever knew that the color they would wear, would surely be a sign of their impending doom. The revolution is coming to an end and now I must return to my home, four years away, from the people that I have known. I am sure I will be revealed as a hero, upon my chest are the medals from the deaths of my fellow man. The boys of red I will carry with me upon my return; the faces of all who died because they bore the color red, will forever stay in my dreams. The medal I have just won for my patriotic duty represents so many of the redcoats like me; who never knew if they would see their family. I knew it is a soldier I must be, but in the name of liberty, was not a just cause for me. To my dismay, I cannot return to my home, for I have one last duty to complete this mission of mine before my time in this revolution is over. My orders in hand, I set out to finish the redcoats hiding in the nearby towns. The burning in my chest as the pain filled my body, the thick red substance oozed from the confines of my ragged uniform. Falling to my knees as a young boy no more than fourteen appeared from a lavish green brush, bearing the colors of red. Finally, I thought I could return home as I watched the young boy weep in despair, as I gasp for my last little bit of air. The words I could only mutter as a boy who had to become a man, were, “no more, forget this senseless war.” I gasp a bit more throwing my medal at the young boy’s feet, as I rolled over not worrying about defeat. The last breath escaped my body as the young redcoat sat next to me, covering my lifeless body with his redcoat as he wept. This young boy of fourteen sat with me until he could no longer bear, the young boy wept and whispered upon my lifeless ear, “no more sir.” The young boy gripped the medal tightly in his hand as he scurried off towards the nearby village, with the taste of war that will now live with him forever. Mosby

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