1818: Two men, separated by color, but bonded by the wilds of their young country, stood and stared at the fruits of their labors. Before them, danced acres of tall grass, and in a clearing in front of them sat, ever so sturdy, a house. The two men had together raised a small fortune as fur traders in their youth, and together bought a farm that they would make a living and eventual death on. Years passed and the two men turned their sea of grass into an ocean of corn. One night, the cries of two baby boys flowed like currents through their home’s fields. One boy, born as pale as the moon and with hair so golden even the Brothers Grimm could not have imagined it. The other boy, much larger and stronger, and like his father, was as dark as the night and his hair grew to be a lump of charcoal that rested on his scalp. The two boys, like their fathers before them, were bonded as brothers through the wilderness that surrounded their home. In their youthful ignorance, nothing could touch them.
1854: The farm went up in flames as the wells in Texas soon would, decades later. Word had spread that the plantation owners neighboring the boy’s farm were brutal beyond belief to those lives they would deem were theirs to own. As a rumor does, it spread like wildfire to the angry ears in the north that listened, ever so impatiently, for a reason to march south. A militia of abolitionists march into the town one night and scorched the earth in the name of freedom. Yet the only place that burned was the one free place in that county, the boy’s farm. The boy’s, being men at this point, watched their farm burn. Their Families went with it as they stood in agony in the fields, tools in their hands from a late night’s work. The two fled, knowing what could become of them in a state that had grown so hostile. They ended up in Kansas, and did the one thing they knew how. They worked on a new farm, one nothing like home. The deal was struck that their work would only be paid, and that they had seen enough of slavery’s tragedy. But slavery did not escape them, and Kansas would bleed. Clashes broke out on the border of Kansas, and the war would soon begin.
1863: The dark man had become accustomed to bloodied battleground dirt, but he would have never planned to see what he did. Lincoln himself stood upon a podium and gave his address to the masses of people that stood before the masses of corpses. The dark man and his men in arms and color walked pass the speech and continued on to the war they needed to fight. But the war would end that day for the dark man, as all he fought for, died fighting for him. He kneeled there, salt dripping from his lips, over the body of a friend he only ever wanted to die for. He never wanted someone to die for him, but the choice was not his. He placed his hand on the chest of his lost brother, the dead man’s skin paler than snow now, and wept. He reached into his pocket and grabbed some corn kernels. He placed the handful in his friend’s breast pocket and placed a union flag over his head. He lifted the body swearing to bury it with their family.