Warring Souls: Greta's Story

Greta coughed as the gunpowder filled the air, her eyes watering profusely. She had been shooting for what seemed like eternity and she just wanted it to be over. The colors of the uniforms were starting to blur together and she could no longer distinguish the blue from the grey. Resting in a deep trench, surrounded by bodies of her fallen comrades, she sighed and closed her eyes.

How much easier it would be just to attack these petty soldiers with her teeth and nails instead of hiding behind a gun. But she would not, in the light of day, attack a soldier. Hearing the gunfire cease milliseconds before her comrades, Greta sprang up from the trench and fired her weapon again and again, firing ceaselessly until she had to reload her weapon hastily.

Greta caught sight of Union blue in her peripheral vision and lunged after the man, scrambling out of her trench. He sprinted as if his life depended on it—and mayhap it did. Her gun clutched in her hands she chased after the man for a reason beyond her comprehension. What did this one little whelp matter to her? He was no more important than the others wearing Union blue.

The man threw a glance over his shoulder and quickened his pace at the sight of her. Greta laughed and ran faster, using her vampiric speed, slamming into his from behind. The soldier went down, his gun tumbling from his fingers. Greta held on to hers with ease.

He slammed his elbow into her solar plexus and jumped to his feet when she jerked back, groaning. He swung hard and knocked her helmet from her head, sending her blonde locks cascading down her back.

"You're…you're a woman!" the man cried in surprise.

"Hush!" Greta snarled, lunging forward.

The man stepped away from her, pressing his lips together tightly. "You…look familiar," he murmured, scanning her face.

Greta narrowed her eyes at him. "Can you not speak without taking a pause?" she hissed.

"Yes ma'am," he said, tipping his own helmet.

"Get your gun soldier," Greta snapped, pointing her own gun at him. "I'll not shoot an unarmed man."

"Why do you look so familiar?" the man asked again.

Greta snarled and tossed her hair out of her face. "It matters naught," she quipped. "Get your gun before I change my mind and shoot you dead," she hissed.

He slowly grabbed his gun, keeping his eyes on her the whole while. "Greta," he said suddenly, his eyes lighting with recognition.

Greta groaned and looked away. "Benjamin," she muttered. "'Tis true it is me."

"My soulmate," Benjamin smiled. "Why do you point your gun at me? Surely you do not mean to shoot me?"

Greta narrowed her eyes at him. "You think I wouldn't?" she hissed.

Benjamin lowered his gun and smirked. "You wouldn't," he laughed.

Greta squeezed the trigger twice and Benjamin frowned, stumbling backward, dark pools of blood spreading across his chest. "You…you shot me," Benjamin gasped.

"Yes, well we are on opposite sides of this war. 'Tis was a soldier does," she said and turned away as her soulmate collapsed on the ground, gasping in pain. She wished she could take it back as she strode back to her trench. Tears stained her cheeks. She hadn't meant to shoot him. It had been an accident, truly. He had challenged her and she had forgotten that he was not a vampire for just a moment.

She stopped walking and threw her gun to the ground, burying her face in her hands. "I've killed him," she cried.

The a sword being removed from its sheath sounded in her ears and an intense pain ripped through her stomach. Greta fell to the ground and cried out, going limp, a sword protruding from her belly. A bomb exploded somewhere to her left and Greta flinched. "Help," she moaned, going into a bought of coughs. "Help!"

A man wearing tattered Union blue began crawling toward her and she narrowed her eyes at him. He looked at her and reached for his gun, preparing to shoot her. After all, she was a Confederate and he a Union soldier.

"Wait," she managed to say. And then she knew what she was going to do before she had even begun. She had killed her soulmate, but that didn't mean she couldn't be happy? This man was attractive and he was most likely going to die in the war anyway, so why not spare him that?

"If you must kill me…then at least…hear me…first," she gasped out.

And so Caleb sat there and listened to her tale while her soulmate lay, dying, a few feet away.

Alright, there it is! The last post for this series. -sigh- That's sad to think about! Oh well. Okay, so lots of thanks to everyone who read, reviewd, and participated in the making of my first series. Don't expect another seriees out of me because it is A LOT of work. Trilogies though...now those I can do. Lol.

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