My Story- Read the story & share your thoughts.

Charles N. Bigley heard the wind whipping about his ears on a sharply exposed summer night. The smell of the free, white pine beside the trail aroused his nostrils like a depleted man finding a small puddle of water. The crackle of gravel beneath him crept into the soles of his feet after every severe step.

As Charles reached an aged, old brick building the sounds of healthy husbands conversing with perturbed parents flooded his hearing. The open door led to a husky man he knew as Mr. Dobbs. The next words spoken would describe the reaction of the room as the young man they knew as Chuck entered the small-scale structure.

“Chuck, what’n holy heavens bringsha’ by here?” said Mr. Dobbs.

“I here to sign-up for the Confederate Army,” Chuck replied.

“Well, you come to the right place, but I gotta be true to ya. I didn’t think you was old enough er, Chuck,” said Mr. Dobbs.

Chuck countered with a rigid reply, “Just gimme da pen ner, Mr. Dobbs.”

As Charles H. Bigley spelled out his name followed by an age, Mr. Dobbs told him just what he was singing up for.

“We be leavin’ together tomorrow mornin’ for Fort Donelson. It’s about a twenty mile hike up er. Ah, but a young strappin’ boy like yourself shouldn’t have any problem makin’ a trip in one day.”

“How ya plan on gettin’ up er’?” Chuck asked.

“Oh, you hit Old Swanson Rd. it takes ya right up to the fort.” Chuck turned to leave, but just then Mr. Dobbs continued his talk. “Say, where’s ya pa? Don’t suppose ya told him where ya be tonight.”

“Hope ta see ya again, Dobbs,” Chuck said with a raised hand as he hobbled out the door. A clean breeze hit the side of Chucks head, flipping his fluent, copper hair the wrong direction. Chuck adjusted his eyes as he found his path, and headed north towards Old Swanson Rd.



Rushing home from school, Charles N. Bigley applied his pressure to the right side of a bulky bedrock as he shot down the side of a flourishing hilltop. The awkward placement of his right foot sent kneecaps swinging over elbows. Once he came to rest in spread formation, spiked blades of grass embraced the backside of exposed skin. His mind gave attention to the blazing sun interfering with his view of a radiant, royal, blue sky. All hearing was conquered by the sound of leaves flowing with the breeze. Charles came back to feel the agony slowly creeping through his toes, and up his foot, to take a fixed hold on his right ankle. Charles got up and finished his trip home with the severe limp in his step.

A dining room chair just happened to be the closest seat after closing the door behind him.

“You o.k., Chuck?” His mother asked.

“Oh, ma, just a little sprain,” Charles replied. “You’ll never be guessin’ what Rick told me at school today.”

“What, now?” she responded.
Charles continued, “Rick says there be sign-up for the confederate army at that old church on Fuller tonight.”

“Oh, you need not be thinkin’ ‘bout such things,” she said with a look of hatred.

Charles still wasn’t done yet, “Ma, the army needs all da help it can get.”

“War is an evil thing. You are to have no part of it, and that’ll be the end of it. Probably wouldn’t even let ya sign up anyhow,” his ma replied.



Chuck felt the heat on his back as he enclosed on Fort Donelson. The slight draft gave some relief from the scorching sun. Perpetual pounding of a red-bellied woodpecker and blatant buzzing of a local bumble-bee, added to the pleasing sounds of the countryside.

Just as Chuck got close enough to see a hint of the fort he noticed a man heading in his direction. The man was outfitted in confederate colors, and holding a gun to his side.

“Who are ya, and what be your reason for comin’ here?” the man asked.

“My name’s Charles Bigley, and I’m here to be in your army,” Chuck replied.

“You don’t say. Follow me den,” the man said.

The man led Chuck through the fort, and to another man wearing confederate colors. Only, this man had an empowering, black badge on the right side of his chest, and he spoke with awareness in every sentence.

“Who do we have here?” the officer asked.

“This boy says he’s here to join our brigade,” replied the man.

The officer took a smooth step back while glaring at the boy. “Alright,” he said. “Follow me!”

As the officer led Chuck deeper through the fort, the officer suddenly stopped as he stared at Chuck’s feet.

“What’s wrong with ya leg, boy?” the officer asked.

“Oh, I sprained my ankle yesterday, but I be just fine,” Chuck confirmed.

Officer said with a worried look on his face, “Oh, I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Man’s gotta carry his own load, and with an injury like at; you be hurtin.’”

At first Chuck was speechless at what the officer said, but he soon spoke up. “You mean to tell me I hiked all the way up here to turn around and head back down?”

“’Fraid so,” officer replied, as he turned his back to begin conversing some other soldier. So, feeling depressed and down from the dismissal, Chuck went back to his path, and found his way home.

Two days later Fort Donelson was attacked by Union forces. Over eighty-eight percent of those stationed at Fort Donelson were severely injured, killed, or taken as prisoners.

pretty sweet...

what grade did u get on this?

Mrs. Robinson's grading them this Weekend

you should get a good grade

I better. I'm gonna complain if its anything less than an A-.

whad'ja get on this?

she still hasn't graded them. Infact she says she just found them at her house last night.

oh joy! lol

wow. organized teacher.

yea...very

I CANT BELIEVE YOU DIDNT GET AN 'A' !!!

Yup, had to convince the teacher to give me a B-. Makes me not want to ever try hard at anything ever again, if my best is a B-.

that's lame...
you should get a better grade than that...
ugh...
some teachers...

I now have an A- in AP English. YAY!

yay for you!

Yes. yay for me

no! yay for me! lol

really?