Saturday, February 1, 2014


First Sergeant Negro Corps.
Shenandoah Valley Virginia
June 13th 1863

Dawn heavy rains an come.My boys tents be soil.There be no fightin this morning.Me and my boys has us a new detail upon us.It looks like that some of thee bloody bodies on both sides have backed up outta they muddy graves,cause thee dirt have turned to mud everi where I see bloody torn apart bloody bodies-bloody arms-bloody legs-bloody blown open heads-faces-chests,wit bloody blue-brown-gray-green bloody eyes torn outta eye sockets.Wit thee muddy waters floatin em away in thee watery trails.I looks out over thee muddy graveyard fields and see justta standin lookin on Miss.southern belle dressed in her fancy ballroom dress.She stands in thee cloudy early mornin mist of thee Shenandoah.My po boys looks back at each other,and over at me carrin a flour sack stuffin rotten bloody pieces of human flesh inside.I stares on at Miss.southern belle hoping for another piece of mornin tasty hunk.I stop and stare back at my boys,cause this time my bellie gonna be a belly of a sergeant in thee united states union army negro corps.And my duty will be to find confederate contraband,and cease it.Where be Miss.southern belle be gittin this here food.As a union officer this here have to be reported to my superiors.I order my boys back don't follow me for another piece of tasty hunk.There be no fightin,not until my boys clear thee way of all thee bloody torn up limbs stroll all over everi which away.It be night now.Thee moonlight shines down on thee big lone white farmhouse,wit thee dim light in thee window.Miss.southern belle be inside fixin up her rare hidden contraband,fixin up tasty hunks for us black boys.I sneaks myself through thee pitch black muddy dark open fields,up to thee dim light in thee window of the farmhouse.I hears a choppin and knockin sound.A pullin apart and a cagy smell of raw flesh mixed in wit a season of fresh onion.Miss.southern belle chops-cuts-slice,wit an ole shiny confederate cold steel battle sword,wit strains of fatty yellow flesh hangin from it.My eyes buck to see Miss.southern belle stirrin in a big cast iron pot,as one of my boys,a young colored private infantry soldier,his lean chocolate body stretched out on a big cuttin table in thee dim lit kitchen.Miss.southern belle no mo dressed in her fancy ballroom dress and blue bonnet.Miss.southern belle be dressed now in boots and leather apron,wit no longer thee pale face no sparkle in her eyes look.Miss.southern belle have a spooky grin as she cuts and quarters up my colored young soldier,slicin and throwin rare hunks into her stew pot.I pulls out my army colt revolver,aim it at her haint like demon face.I cock thee trigger to blow her head off,makin sho she never will wear that fancy blue bonnet again. BOOM! BOOM! Like thunder I hear the sound of battle cannons move closer.I lower my revolver back down into the holster turns away unseen.Miss.southern belle be busy tollin away at slicin my boys into rare hunks,doin her part for her cause.I stand thinkin before I return back to thee battle field.That who ever git this here diary and gives it to my mama Miss.Ruby.Just tell her I luv's her.And she be proud.Cause her baby boy is able to fully serve up himself for his COUNTRY.

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