Horrible Harvest
The Untold Story of the Confederate, Augustus Tennyson
Category: Uncategorized
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Can’t say what was said or done for a good stretch of time after Charles clocked me across the head with lumber. Little specks of knowing get kicked out from deep in my brain every now and then, but I can’t make sense of none of it. I can’t even hardly remember coming to. It’s…
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Another gunshot rung out and one of the men guarding Charles and Douglas collapsed to his knees. A Minie ball hit him square in the neck. He cried out for his Momma. Least-wise that’s what it sounded most like. His throat was half tore away, so him letting loose an actual word was near impossible.…
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The house was on fire. Bailey had done it. She’d said as much just ‘fore she marched up them stairs. Naked as a newborn. Nothing but a knife in hand. She promised she’d do it, and she’d burned down the whole fucking lot of them. I tell you true, she was the finest warrior I…
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Allison Weaver Duffy give me a look when I was done with my story. She was curious about something, but she didn’t want to dig in a spot that ain’t meant to be dug up. We turned the corner and seen the train station a block or two away. Silence followed us for a small…
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I’m a Southerner by birth, and I spent most of my formative and adult life in the South. I have been fortunate to have lived in nearly ever regional enclave in this country beyond that. It’s given me a broad perspective of the many diverse and in some cases, diametrically opposed cultures from mountain tops…
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Me, Bobby, Bert, Felix, and Evers – We filed out the door. Our horses were waiting for us when we exited the house, along with a dozen men on their mounts. They was all wearing patchwork animal pelt coats and hats made of this and that varmint. Dusk give way to the dark, and we…
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Trigger Warning: This entry is fraught with a despicable racial slur. It’s done for authenticity, to paint racist shitbags as the shitbags that they are. If you are offended by such a thing, don’t read on. I caught a flurry of activity to my right and turnt to see two fellas approaching, lumber in hand,…
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A preacher approached me. He was dressed in the vestiges of his trade, long in beard, short, gnarled hair, potbelly with a swayback. His eyes was familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him for the life of me. “Augustus,” he said, sounding weary. Like he was walking up on lit dynamite. “I know you,…
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New Orleans in ’69 was a cesspool of scoundrels and scalawags. Weren’t just carpetbaggers from up North that had planted seed in the Crescent City. Sumbitches with piss-poor schemes and bad intentions crawled into town from every part of the world. Weren’t none of them as sharp and toothy as Bobby Bunning. He was smarter…
Horrible Harvest 