The tension was high.

Identical brown leather boots scuffled around the tavern, anxious for their arrival. Muskets were ready, poised on their backs. The minutemen, with their angry facades, were ready to go.

Among them was a teen, not yet eighteen and not even on the verge to be. As accidents happen, he was dragged into the action, being mistaken for his rebel of a father. He now sat amongst them at an empty table, trembling with anticipation and fear as he watched the misty horizon for British soldiers.

He was glad to be a part of it. His father was always a figure he looked up to through his entire life, and he was going to make him proud of him at last. As a timid child, the way the revolutionists forced a weapon on him and marched him out to Buckman Tavern, where they would planned to eventually come out and ambush their enemy, was intimidating but gave him a reason to be here.

“The regulars will be arriving soon.” A voice startled him. Standing up, he turned back to face the speaker. It was one of his father’s old comrades and the leader of them all, Captain John Parker. “Be prepared, Isaac Muzzey.”

He tried to sound like his father as he spoke. “I understand, sir.” He raised his body posture up to look more confident, and nodded in confirmation, refraining from biting his bottom lip out of nervousness from this sudden confrontation. The lieutenant tipped his hat and was on his way.

The youngster followed him with his lidded hazel eyes before sitting back down on the wooden stool, having already cooled from the cold misty air that floated in from the open windows. He wasn’t cold though. Having had shrugged on a thick leather coat and his father’s pair of the rebel uniform boots, they sufficiently kept his body warm and toasty.

Soon, the anxious minutemen began to converse among themselves.

“Did Paul Revere speak the truth, do you think?” someone he didn’t know asked him, resting his bayonet on his empty table as he pulled up a chair for himself.

“I believe in him,” he replied with buoyancy, trying to lighten the mood. “Or else why would he have sounded so desperate?”

“You may be right.” The stranger clasped his hands together with concentration. “I do believe I have not introduced myself to you yet, Muzzey.” Glancing around to make sure no one was nearby to listen, he leaned over the table, inching closer to the teen’s ear as he whispered: “Isn’t that right, Elias Muzzey?” His mouth rustled his side bangs as he backed up and reseated himself.

Elias peered up at him with absolute shock. “How did you know?” he mouthed as quietly as he could.

“I have seen you around,” he replied simply, running his fingers along the side of his weapon. “My name is Robert Munroe, my friend.” He nodded in his general direction as a welcoming courtesy. “It is of a great pleasure to be finally speaking with you, young Muzzey.”

“Please address me like you would address my father, sir.” He spoke formally and hesitantly, in hope of impressing the elder.

In return, Munroe only chuckled softly. “Call me Munroe. I am on the same militia standing as you are, Muzzey.”

Elias blinked at him before a small hint of a smile played on his lips. “Thank you, sir- er, Munroe.”

Before the older one could reply, however, the old tavern door suddenly slammed open. Everyone swiftly stood up, their muskets on the ready with Brown at the front.

“Bowman!” the leader addressed the man who had stumbled in, panting while holding a battered oil lantern up high. “Is this a real alarm?”

“Yes, sir!” He straightened up quickly, and nodded solemnly. “They are already past the rocks, sir!”

Brown turned to the company of impatient rebels. “Let us assemble together to drive the regulars out of our precious town! Drummer, beat to arms!”

A great roar met this very short speech, and a long rolling drumming ensued. Munroe eagerly stood up, grabbing his bayonet from the rickety table. “Let us march forward, for the country, Muzzey!” Elias nodded keenly and seized hold of his own weapon, pushing in his stool and following his new friend out the door, trying not to get trampled by the raging soldiers.

Lexington’s bell was sounded, and it rang through the town, waking up most of the villagers. Elias could hear warning guns go off as he trailed after Munroe with a slight bit of uncertainty. Feeling his hands curling around his musket, he grasped it tightly out of nervousness.

“Order! Order!” Parker’s voice rang out, and a hush fell over the crowd. “Form up in the open common between these two roads,” he ordered, motioning towards the dirt roads. “Stand your ground; don't fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a war, let it begin here.” As several revolutionists started to meander to their positions, Elias looked up to Munroe, confused.

“We simply stand at the side of the road, Muzzey,” he whispered in reply. The youngster nodded, and followed the elder to where he was going, lingering just behind him, out of sight.

When glancing over at the village, he could see some of the citizens coming out of their houses, woolen scarves and heavy coats on their sleepy bodies, and stopping a fair distance away from them.  He even spotted some of his neighbours, which almost made Elias want to be back in his humble home, safe with his mother and older sister, but he swallowed his fear as best he could and stood up straight, just like his father.

Being out of it, he was mildly surprised when he got elbowed by an indignant Munroe. “Muzzey, are you listening?” Elias looked up in confusion. “Captain Parker ordered us to not meddle with the regulars,” he explained, smiling in a rough fashion down at the bewildered teen.

He smiled weakly back in reply. “Thank you for informing me, Munroe.” With a curt militarish nod, the senior returned to facing the road stretched before them, waiting for the army like everyone else.

Elias focused his attention towards the dirt road as well. It had become considerably brighter outside, and it seemed as though the sun was about to rise soon enough. Even though the morning was near, the thick layer of fog in the town was still drifting through, obscuring his view from the others.

He perked up when a small but gradually increasing sound reached his ears. It sounded like a small bee was buzzing around, but Elias knew better. Being careful not to be noticed by anyone, he cautiously tugged on Munroe’s sleeve. “Munroe, I can hear the regulars.”

His comrade glanced back at him with excitement, a department Elias was currently lacking in. “Nice ear you’ve got there, Muzzey,” he replied, grinning. “Shall we tell the others?”
“Yes, please do so.” Elias wasn’t sure if his barely-out-of-puberty voice, despite his efforts, would passed unnoticed if everyone was listening to him. He watched as Munroe jogged over to their captain and told him the news. With his loud booming voice, Parker yelled out, “The regulars are here!”

This announcement was met with an even bigger roar than before, and everyone was ordered to retreat to the far sides of the road. With all the minutemen closer together, Elias could feel the pressure really rising among them and he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from keeling over from fright already.

Thankfully, Munroe was right beside him and he noticed his anxiety. “You’ll do just fine,” he whispered, gently patting the teen’s shoulder with overbrimming confidence. Elias responded with a curt nod, clutching his musket tighter than ever.

“They’re here!” someone shouted.

Their smooth rhythm as the regulars marched together made Elias feel inferior, but he had to stand up to them. He had to, or else all would be in vain. With shaking legs, he slowly straightened up and tried to look as brave as possible.

The oncoming army suddenly stopped, about a hundred feet away from the nearest rebel. A lone officer came a bit closer on his horse, waving his sword around. “Lay down your arms, you damned rebels!”

The tension suddenly just exploded, and everyone was just yelling, yelling, and the poor boy didn’t know what he was doing, and even Munroe looked enraged and was throwing insults all around.

“Disperse! Disperse!” Elias could barely hear Parker, and his voice was getting raspier each time. Throughout all the confusion, no one noticed him.

That’s when he tripped.

And when he tripped, Elias could’ve sworn that he saw his life flash right before his eyes, as though he were going to die. When that all happened, it just blinded him completely, so when a loud banging sound came from his gun, he was surprised.

He realized, then, at that point, that it had been his hand that pulled the trigger.