The River Crosses Four Times
The river ran red at Antietam. Not metaphorically — literally. The water in the creek behind the field hospital was the color of rust, and the smell was the kind of smell that gets into your clothes and your skin and your lungs and stays there, not because you want it to stay but because once something enters you, it doesn't always leave. I was nineteen years old. I was a surgeon's assistant,...
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