Dear Momma

Dear momma,

War has been rough on this poor soul. They treat us fresh fish like animals. Especially the black ones. They make us clean everyones guns, shoes, and uniforms. The food is horrible and stale. But that's the same for everyone. I cannot wait to come home. In the first fight I was in, I saw women and children from the north setting out picnic tables and eating a snack while wathing the battle. It was not that they were daft or drunk. They just really didn't know what war was like. The first shots wizzed by my head, and the first chance I got I went to cover. Apparently, we won, but I was buisy sittin behind a rock. I cannot wait till this war is over. I cannot wait to come home. I cannot wait for the Union to win.

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