I am posting this story in honor of my late husband, may he rest in peace. This is his work, His story background for one of his Vampire the Masqurade characters.
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When Kindred contemplate the members of Clan Toreador, many picture my foppish, pretty and self-absorbed brothers and sisters. You ask one hundred Cainites, and I guarantee you not a single one of them will picture me. I’m unique among my Clan. I’m unique among the Camarilla. Hell, I’m unique amongst all Kindred. Period. Not for my upbringing, my past, nor my future set me apart. My choice has made me one-of-a-kind.
I still remember my birthday and place, not that it matters any more. June fifth, 1849 – Fort Sumter, South Carolina. Hell, my first decade of existence is just as much a mystery to me as it is to everyone else, because it wasn’t until my tenth birthday that anything happened. Everybody talks about how a certain moment in time completely altered their life, but they’re all wrong. In my experience, there’s dozens of those moments. Pivotal events that alter any aspect of your life. Nine times outta ten, it revolves around some aspect of Human Emotion. It’s always emotion that drives the key events.
My first was the one gift I received on that celebration of my first decade of life. My father gifted me with my first firearm, an 1858 Remington New Army Revolver. Who knew that pistol would alter the course of my life? Soon, my life revolved around three things. The Remington, My Father’s teachings, and my future career. The second I saw and felt that weapon in my ten-year-old hand, I knew I’d follow my father’s path, and become a Soldier. What I didn’t know was how soon I’d get that job.
I spent the next year and a half learning everything my father would teach me as well as studying every nuance, every bit of that revolver. It was my best friend, my constant companion, and my one true love. Then, 1861 rolled around. President Lincoln was sworn in, the masses cheered, and South Carolina Seceeded. War had reared it’s hideous head, and as soon as I heard about it, I knew we wouldn’t be far behind. Father started gearing up for war, and In the second pivotal shift in my life, I joined him. Despite many hours of talking down, Father gave up, and ordered a uniform my size.
The sad part is, at eleven years of age, I knew issues, and I knew where I stood. In war, so few soldiers know where they stand, why they fight, why they’re there. They just follow orders, without question, without conviction, without heart. These are the very same soldiers that are sent home with a flag over their face and mothers screaming ‘why’ and cursing God for taking their sons. I’ve never been one of them. I grew up around them, and I learned what a soldier should be early on.
It only took three months to learn the true horrors of war, when Beauregard started bombarding the Fort. Garrison Commander Anderson had refused to turn the fort over to Confederate forces, and the battle that resulted was nothing short of horrific. Father, his unit, and I had been assigned to escort the women and children from Fort Sumter, Mostly because Anderson saw me as one of those children. Yet again, life changed, even as we evacuated Fort Sumter. It was the last I’d see of my home… or my family.
Just as we neared the border of the Confederacy, we were ambushed in an attempt to prefent our expeditious retreat from Confederate territory. We’d thought we’d finished them all, and I had just reloaded the Remington, when one of the Confederates awoke, taking aim at the first person in sight, my mother. Father covered her, but it was to no avail. The soldier’s bullet went clean through father’s stomach, only to lodge in mother’s throat.
