Before you could even finish that thought, another boy rushed behind and knocked you onto the ground. There was a sting on your lips, and the taste of blood and dirt filled your mouth. You turned on your back while using your hand to clean your busted lip, and found yourself surrounded by shadows. They began to kick and punch you as you covered your
head. Your prized sabre laid just a few feet from you. You watched as the dust picked up and the blows kept coming. You stretched one arm in an attempt to get up, and your fingers found themselves under the weight of someone's boot. You let out a cry that was interrupted by a kick to your stomach. Saliva had been added to that sour taste, and unfortunate meal, as you swallowed trying to catch your breath. In the midst of the pain a thought ran through your head. Did the whole Confederate Army feel this way when they were losing the civil war? History.. what garbage it, and waste of time. What goes is it doing you now. And you guess fencing hasn't taught you much about dirty fighting either. You hear the yells of more kids in the distance. For a moment, you get a glimpse of the clouds above you. You enjoy it, time stands still, and then, your feel a thump on your face as it meets the same fate your fingers did. Everything goes black...
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