Young Writers Society

I wrote this for English class and wanted to get more than the bare-bones critique than I got from my teacher. I wrote it six months ago, and have done some basic editing since then, but that's about it.


Picture the Civil War

I was cut from a tree six months back or so, and made to match my twin brother exactly. The pare of us were sent immediately to a hospital in Vermont, which was being prepared for injured soldiers. When we arrived, we were put in the back of a cupboard, which was then filled with other pairs of crutches just like us - rather jumbled. As crutches were taken out and put back in, I spent my time in the corner, trying to learn what I could about hospital life.

When a soldier comes in, the doctors will examine them to see what's wrong - I haven't witnessed this process myself, but I have heard the screams of men who are suffering. One of the pairs from the front told us that there's a long metal stick the doctors use called a bullet probe - or so she said - that will be stuck into a bullet wound to judge how far the bullet is in. Then, it is screwed into the lead of the bullet and the bullet is extracted. I'm glad I can't see this - it sounds painful.

All around me, I feel more wood, and if by some chance I get tired of being in such cramped quarters - which does happen - I just listen to the anguished cries from around me and debate with myself. Am I glad that I'm not out there? Or would I rather help a soldier get around? These debates are most often held late at night when the other crutches rest. I remain awake, listening to the delirious dreams of feverish men, hearing the prayers of the soldiers who are actually awake, and waiting for morning to come.

Sometimes I worry about what will happen to me. Or, more, about the country, and what I know of this war. Will the feuding sides split up? I can't really say if I'm on one side or the other because I don't know much about what either one wants - all I do get is the latest local news, and even that is confusing. I suppose I should support the side Vermont is on, just because I'm from a tree that grew up there. Or else all be on whichever side is against slavery - not sure which one that is. From what I hear, slavery is making one person do hard work for another, and paying them only with lashes from a whip. That sounds wrong to me, so I should be on the opposing side. Actually, I should probably just hope Vermont is on that side. Abolitionists, is what the other crutches in the front called those people.

This week has been pretty busy at the hospital - pair after pair of crutches have been removed, and none have been added. Whispers start going around - "Shortages," everyone says, "they're running out of wood. They don't know what to do because they're not going to have any left."

I feel sad as I hear the news, because shortages mean I'll definitely be used, and I still haven't decided if I want to or not yet. I ask myself - "Do I want to go to someone with a terrible, gory gash or a missing leg? Or do I want someone with a less serious wound?" I can never decide because I've never been taken out of the cupboard, and can only imagine the true horror behind the stories I've been told about sawed off legs.

Suddenly, one afternoon, in the middle of my daydreams, I am given a clear view of the hospital around me - the cabinet door has been taken off long ago to be used as a stretcher, and the crutch in front of me has just been swept away. I can see the people in the hospital. The women in the crisp white aprons that rustle seem to be in charge, so I suppose they are the nurses. Men lay in cots all over the place. This hospital is a busy building, and now I realize that it's in a serious state of disrepair. Maybe what one crutch said is true: "Most hospitals are in tents or unused buildings. Depends on the condition of the building - sometimes tents are better." But of course, I've never been in a tent before so I wouldn't know.

The stench of the place hits me right in the face for the first time - I haven't been exposed to it before because of all the crutches in front of me. Not the whole smell, at least. It's like something rotting - perhaps because there is rotting flesh all over the place. Relatively nearby, a nurse changes the bandage on a man's leg - it's black and oozes pus, altogether disgusting. I find it horrible that men must suffer so much. For the first time, I wonder why peace is such a hard alternative to the fighting.

If this is what the hospital is always like, death on the air and in the mind, then I don't want to picture a battlefield. Someone told me that the dead are left there afterward, until they are buried in a mass grave, every body together.

A stern-looking woman walks up to the cabinet - and grabs my brother and I. The time has come for me to face a soldier, and I suddenly realize I don't mind so much. Now that I've seen how bad it is, I don't mind leaving - going away. The pair of us are thrust towards another nurse, who is more gentle than the first. She brings us to a tall man in a tattered blue jacket.

"Here you are," she says to him. "You're free to go - if you can, return the crutches in a day or two."

The man takes us, and stands, slowly. I can feel the hard ground as I'm thumped down, over and over, while the soldier limps towards the door. His uniform is grimy against my previously clean wood. As we walk, I feel blood spatter against me once or twice. We pass a surgeon amputating the leg of a man, and the screams - I know they'll haunt me forever. They were no longer muffled.

His steps are weary, slow, painful. I can taste the salty blood, permeating my wood, mingled with sweat. The air smells metallic - everything starts buzzing as I struggle to remain in my right mind, trying to keep myself from becoming just a piece of dead wood. Everything is overwhelming.

And then, I am brought of out the dark room, and dazzled by the brilliant sun. Everything is bathed in light - I feel a sense of pride in helping this man. He stands in the doorway, in the sun, just waiting. Next to him sits a woman in a chair, and in the glow are six other men, all injured.

This is the moment I've been waiting for since I was first carved, I realize; this is my job. It is my duty to help those who cannot walk, because they need me. I am the one who removes restrictions - I have power. And there is no need to be commended - I know my reward is the sunlight.

Maybe someday I'll return to the confines of the hospital, and then sent out to another soldier. Maybe when this man is done, I'll become firewood. Maybe I'll just be passed directly along. No matter what happens, I am content to be where I am, helping a man to stand tall, proud and strong in the bright sun of the afternoon. There is nothing more I need right now because my purpose has been fulfilled. Later, I'll worry about the war. Tonight, I'll dream of the horrors of the hospital, and relive today. War isn't pretty, I know this now - but the little things can make it a bit more comfortable.

I'm honestly not a critier person. But all the same I read this and thought it was really cool. I liked your take on the civel war by a crutch and how its point of veiw seemed scuwed like it dident understand what was going on which I think was also the veiw of alot of solders in the armys. I also like how you have the crutch a sence of duty to the solder he was helping and how even the crutch was patriotic. All in all it was really cool and I enjoyed reading it.

Nice take on the war. I love the perspective from the crutch. Very unique.

I did think it was interesting, and I did WANT to keep reading, which is good obviously, but i noticed that you used "I" a lot. Pronouns are wonderful things, but it got a little repetitive. It made the story seem kind of flat. Try jazzing up the sentence structure to make the story more interesting and have better flow.

I also noticed that you described the nurses to have "crisp, white aprons". This is a good visual of a nurse, but consider the fact that some/most of the nurses were volunteers who worked for hours and hours with sick, bloody men. I'm not so sure they'd have uniform aprons, let alone crisp, white, ones. But, be creative, leave it as is if you want. Just thought i'd point it out.

And finally, i come to the very last sentence. I'm pretty sure the word you are looking for is "war."

So in summary, nice story, very creative. Hope you got an A on it when you turned it into school.

I absolutely loved this! It was really creative to write it in the point of view of the crutch. Also, I liked this:

I suppose I should support the side Vermont is on, just because I'm from a tree that grew up there.

It really showed how a lot of people (probably not the soldiers, but the other people,) would just support a side because that's where they lived. I'm not sure if it was meant to be seen that way, but that's what I thought.

Great job!

I really enjoyed this, as was mentioned the POV is really what makes this story.
+ I was a little nervous when you (the crutch/he?/she?) began to talk about the war. But you evened it out, and didn't try to go to far with that particular idea.*
+ The personality of your voice was really fascinating, you managed to make it work really well, so kudos for that. It was (strange as this sounds) believeable.

And the story was compelling, I had no problems reading this, no parts I had to struggle over. Overall a rare combination of a great idea + well executed(not overdone!)

Very nice.


*to clarify: If you would have started talking about something specific (i.e. General Burnside's conduct at Fredricksburg) then I would have been suspicious. But you kept it basic, with only a childlike understanding.

Whoa, that was really awesome what you did there with the POV. Very creative and something i haven't seen yet. I loved how you wrote the descriptions and it was an easy read. The crutch, as smorgishborg said, is a believable character, and thats really cool.

To sum up, i loved it!

i couldn't really understand who was talking...but halfway through i figured it out that the crutch was talking! It took me a while! anyways, i'm not really one to crit writing i just enjoy to read the staroes and what not! To tell you the truth i really enjoyed you story! i liked the voice of it and i loved the detail! keep writing!

Ringettegirl