I fumbled the packet of gunpowder from my patch, my bare fingers frozen from the cold. I hunkered down in the meager shelter of a rock, doing my best to block the rain from running down the inside of the barrel of my rifle as I tear the packet of gunpowder with my teeth and pour some of the precious powder inside, quickly stuffing the bullet in a wad of paper down after it. Again, checking to make sure the flint was cocked and ready, I lifted the gun to my shoulder, aiming with my eyes, willing my arms to stop trembling. I couldn't make the rain stop, I couldn't find warmth, but I would stop myself from getting killed for another couple of minutes. One shaky breath, and I pulled the trigger, turning my head away from the now expected explosion of fire that came from the gun. I turned quickly back to where the target had been, peering through the drizzle to see if I'd hit them, even as I lowered my weapon to reload, again fumbling for another packet of gunpowder. I couldn't see anyone, but that didn't mean I'd hit them. That didn't mean I was safe. No I was never safe. Not here, not now. I just needed to survive. Again I raise the weapon, once more reloaded, ready to fire at the first thing I saw moving.
-Inspiration from talking to a gentleman about the Civil War
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