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A good example of that simple truth was that survival hinged more on the vagaries of chance than on the pre-planned design of some unseen God that had an end-game in mind when he started the whole human experiment.Witnessing the sprinkling of brain tissue thrown out in every direction, including right on my spotlessly clean tunic, from the young lad beside me was enough to convince me that fate was indeed a fickle finger and you never knew when your number was up. I didn't have time to even reflect on the accuracy of some distant Confederate sniper and my good fortune to be standing one meter to his side. It was unfortunate that we did not have many sharpshooters in our units, but that was the result of recruiting young men from the streets of the large cities rather than scouring the countryside for rifle qualified marksmen. I didn't consider it a huge error in judgement because in this war, as in other wars, where I had seen combat up close and personal, the name of the game was. I was daydreaming placidly as I pushed the loud mower across our yard, oblivious to the world. Suddenly a pain bloomed in my right side and my breath was knocked out of me. As I fell to the ground I felt another pain, this time exploding on my left side. As I lay there on the ground, writhing in pain and gasping for air, I could see his boot inches from my face. He hooked a toe under my midsection and rolled me over onto my back. I lay there helpless like a boned fish, my kidneys screaming in pain. The setting sun was behind him as he stood over me, and I could hear his voice but I couldn’t see his face for the brilliant glare. Make no mistake about it, he was one big son of a bitch, standing six foot five and weighing every ounce of three hundred pounds. As he stood over me with the sun behind him he looked twenty feet tall and five feet wide. ‘Next time I’ll kill you boy.’ He hissed at me, and with that he walked away. I remember feeling very glad that he walked away, because I.
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