Tears filled my eyes as I watched red and orange mix in the most glorious, destructive way.
I watched as it engulfed her in the most beautiful, horrific display of heroism.
She was pure beauty, standing tall even while her bones were the only thing left.
40 days I watched as she became ash, little was left of her after.
After those men burned her to the ground.
And as she surrendered, she stood tall even as the wind carried part of her out west.
The wind picked up what was left, allowing her to rebuild.
Her former beauty having been lost.
What the flames didn’t steal, the wind did.


Her cotton field were now fields of flames.
I sobbed as I watched every last bit of her lost to the flames of war.
My knees gave way as my hands picked up what was left of her.
I looked around in horror.
My head came down meeting her’s.
‘I’m sorry, old Vicky.’
After 40 days, we gave way to the effects of war.
And though she didn’t want to give in, we did for her.

As nothing was left of the once beautiful Vicksburg.

I had watched as she crumbled and stood her pride still intact.
But in the end, she was stripped of even that.
Her beauty could be restored.
Unlike her pride-that would take 2 wars and 84 years of shame.
For the rest the day of Independence was a day of celebration.
For her it was a reminder of the day she gave in to the orange and red flames.
The day they had finally starved her ashes into submission.
Her ashed occupied the caves until the food ran out.
She learned what Total war and the death of civilians felt like.

July 4th, 1863. The day the beautiful Vicksburg fell.