Civil War-APH

The blood spilled across the field, waves of gray and blue clashing against each other. Enemies and
enemies ripped each other's hearts out, long lost friends tore at the friendship they once held.
Gettysburg was hell. Over 46,000 men died on each the Union and Confederacies army, and even
worse it didn't end there. In all, there were at least fifty major battles in the Civil War, and my minor
battles to count for too.

          More people died from surgery in the battle of Gettysburg than any fatal gunshot or cannon
wounds. In the five years of the American Civil War, the once known "United States" was torn
apart. The battles, the fights, the age long war hurt everything and everyone.

During this time, every other country was not eager to help, for it was a fight America had to
pull through itself.

To the other countries, Alfred was simply being bipolar. To Alfred, it was much more.

He couldn't sleep, he couldn't eat, he couldn't focus on anything until the bloodshed was
over. He felt sick twenty-four-seven, and he would cry until his eyes nearly bled. The stress, the
terror, the pain hurt him.

At night, he would look in his mirror and see another side of him, a darker side, perhaps?
No. His equal.

He was in the mirror, but so was another him. The same, but different. Confederate South.
He looked like Alfred, he had the same hair as Alfred, but he was dressed in all gray. Gray army
uniform, gray eyes, gray everything.

To Alfred, the war wasn't states versus states, it was more him versus himself. Man versus
man. Alfred was in two bodies, a body ready to secede and keep the old ways, and a body willing to
give up everything to destroy the other body. The stress killed.

On the night of the last day of the Battle of Gettysburg, Alfred stood on both ends of the
field, watching each side tear apart everything. Lee versus Grant.

In the beginning, the Confederates were strong, whipping the North. Toward the end, the
North prevailed.

The second side of Alfred died a little that day.

And with the last battle of the Civil War, at Palminto Ranch, the second side of Alfred died
even more, up to the point when he would look in the mirror. In someone's eyes from the Union,
Alfred looked tired but as if he was filled with pride. In someone's eyes from the Confederate South,
he looked tired. Tired and sad.

The second side of Alfred never could completely forgive Ulysses S. Grant. The second side
of Alfred haded the first side for Sherman's March. The second side of Alfred was a hero to some, a
nightmare to others.

After the war, Alfred never was the same.