Faulkner Revised …

For every Northern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it, there is the instant when it’s still not yet four o’clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the hilltop is abandoned save for a few signal corps flagmen, the Rebs are emerging from the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Hood himself with his hat in one hand and his sword in the other looking along the ridge waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it’s all in the balance, it hasn’t happened yet, it hasn’t even begun yet, it not only hasn’t begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances which made more men than Warren and Vincent and Hazlett and O’Rorke and Weed and that guy from Maine look grave yet it’s going to begin, we all know that, we have come too far with too much at stake and that moment doesn’t need even a fourteen-year-old boy to think This time. Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: gift stores, a movie, t-shirts, all featuring the guy from Maine, with maybe a nice monument for Warren that everyone photographs … yet this time, we’ll remember Vincent and Hazlett and O’Rorke and Weed and all those who gave their lives (even Buster) to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the brave stand that will lead to the stillness at Appomattox two years hence …

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter … the Video Game