A Country Divided : Through Blood United

The Assassination of Abraham Lincoln: A Tragic End

As the play was approaching its third quarter, I broke out a small yawn and stretched my arms, casually laying one of my arms over Johnathan's powerful shoulders.

I predicted that it was probably nighttime since I never really grew drowsy after I wake up. I suddenly heard footsteps coming from outside the Presidential box, but I paid no attention to it.

The sound's probably someone moving to their box or something, I thought to myself,

I then decided to glance toward Abraham Lincoln and his wife, Mary Lincoln, who interlaced her fingers with her husband's.

"Darling," she whispered to him, her voice barely audible. She quickly looked over at Clara Harris, whose gaze was in Abraham's direction.

"Do you think that Clara fancies you?" Mary asked, her eyes full of anxiety and a bit of jealousy.

Abraham simply shook his head, making his wife smile in response.

"No, dear," he said reassuringly through the loud roars of laughter that erupted from the crowd after one of the actors told a joke.

"She doesn't fancy me. And besides, she had no chance of winning me over when there's such a pretty lady like you sitting next to me."

And those were Abraham's last words before an ear-splitting shot rang through the air.

***

I sat completely frozen in the Presidential box at the theater, my eyes wide in astonishment. The President lay slumped over the railing of the box, a hole ripped into the back of his head from a bullet. From the corner of my eye, I could make out a figure holding a single-shot Philadelphia Derringer, his arm still as if it was frozen solid.

The sound of Johnathan grunting as he stood up turned my attention in his direction. As the audience began to fall into a panic after realizing that a murderer was loose in the theater, I turned toward Johnathan who rammed his body into the assassin.

Instead of shooting the assassin with his new silver gun, Johnathan leaped into the air and tackled the man that just killed the President to the floor of the Presidential box.

The two of them tumbled to the ground while Lincoln's wife screamed, its shrill pitch causing the rest of the theater's visitors to gaze curiously in our direction. With the President slumped over the rail of the box, Johnathan pinned the murderer to the ground.

Before he could punch the assassin, Johnathan gasped once he figured out who the assassin was.

"John Wilkes Booth!" Johnathan shouted, practically putting time on pause for me.

I connected the dots fairly quickly as time slowed down. Abraham Lincoln praised the famed actor John Wilkes Booth for his acting skills only about twelve hours ago. Now, the very same actor that my friend was praising was now in the Presidential box fighting Johnathan after shooting and most likely killing the President of the United States.

I helplessly watched the two men tumble on the ground, and Booth was able to roll under Johnathan. He then pulled Johnathan by his shoulders and pushed him against the room's wall.

"Johnathan!" I screamed in panic, my voice cracking in fear as I hoped that Booth didn't have another bullet loaded in his gun

I instantly sprung into action and tried to rush toward John Wilkes Booth and Johnathan, who was losing his breath as the assassin choked Johnathan.

My heavy dress and fancy heeled shoes gave me no help and instead held me back as I tried to save Johnathan from possibly being killed.

Once I finally approached the two, I stopped in my tracks when John Wilkes Booth pulled out a long knife from his coat pocket.

"No!" I screamed once more as the assassin began to stab the helpless and now weak Johnathan.

Johnathan yelped in surprise as blood began to pour out of his bicep and chest. After John Wilkes Booth knew that he stabbed Johnathan enough, he let go of Johnathan and let him drop to the ground.

I caught Johnathan before he could hit the ground, and I turned back toward the assassin.

"I hate you!" I screamed in Booth's direction as he headed for the railing of the Presidential box.

"I hate you!" I kept repeating while I stood up and faced away from the now unconscious Johnathan.

Before I could chase after the assassin, he already leaped over the edge of the box, which left me practically alone with my thoughts.

***

And that's when I snapped. I glanced around the chaos that ensued in the room. My friend Abraham Lincoln was most likely dead. His wife was screaming in agony. Clara Harris and Major Rathbone were also screaming, but they were screaming in panic. The love of my life lay unconscious on the floor, blood pouring from his chest and arm.

Before we went to the theater, I ran away from my family, knowing that they owned slaves. My father and twin brother especially liked to abuse some the slaves, and I ran away to Kansas once I found out.

In Kansas, I met my first love, Oliver Brown. He hooked me onto abolishing slavery, and his dream led him to his demise in Harper's Ferry.

Then, I didn't realize that the unthinkable would occur on July 2nd, 1863, or the battle of Gettysburg. To save the life of my friend, Asher, I stabbed his opponent with my bayonet and shot the same man in the back of the head with my pistol that I owned at the time.

Little did I know that I just killed my own brother, Evan.

After becoming overwhelmed with the sudden emotion, I realized that if Abraham and the love of my life both died today, I would practically have no one left. I couldn't live life like that, knowing that my friends were dead and that my twin brother is gone.

I made my final decision and pulled the pearl handled pistol out from my skirt and admired it for one final time, its small glint flashing in my eye.

"I guess that Johnathan was right," I chuckled to myself as I loaded the gun.

Lincoln's wife saw what I was doing and ran over to me. "Dear, what are you going to do-"

Her words were cut off when a shot rang through the air, and a sharp pain erupted in the side of my head. I felt myself crash to the ground, and my earrings that Lincoln gave to me tumbled out of my hands.

I managed to still grasp onto life, and I could see Johnathan's expressionless face. For a moment, however, his eyes suddenly flickered back to life, and he managed to say something to me.

"Love, what did you do?" Johnathan exclaimed, his weak voice cracking.

Instead of giving Johnathan a normal response, I remembered the song that Milo wrote for me back in 1861.

"I've never had a light behind my eyes," I coughed to Johnathan, my vision growing blurry. "But I've always loved the way it looked on you. You swept me off my feet in my good time, I'm not sure if I can manage without you."

Before my world went black, I was able to squeeze in the last verse of the song Milo wrote to me. "Well, both at mid-defeat when it's the end, we'll both smile and outta' know our time is through. In my heart you'll always be a friend; I'm not sure I can manage without you."

I gave Johnathan one last smile before my vision finally clouded into a dark black.