Allison #1

                "Allison, please!" she heard another cry of pain from behind her. Allison, bone weary and afraid, had long ago lost the feeling of her feet. She had been running from bedside to bedside, trying to help ease the pain of the wounded men. Allison had become their savior, their comfort, their everything in their last gasp of life.

                "Allison, hand me that saw!"

                "Allison, hold down this man!"

                "Allison, help me!"

                Allison could barely remember what it felt like to live in her small, peaceful town. Only a few days ago she had been farming and working her father's land, just as she had done all her life. Until the war came to her very doorstep.

                Men in gray uniforms had overtaken her small home, using it as a makeshift hospital for all the wounded men. Because she was the only female living in the house, she had been told to help. Allison had never nursed a man with a bullet in his arm back to health before, nor had she ever held a dying man in her arms to help comfort him as his eyes lost their spark of life. She felt as if her hands would forever remain red with men's blood.

                Are you here, Allison?

                Shaking her head wearily, Allison ignored the voice. She had heard it a few times before, but the cries of screaming men, moaning, and the general rush of her overtaken home, she knew there was no voice that could be asking such strange questions. Instead, she knew that it was from lack of sleep and her mind was starting to make up voices in order to escape from the hectic scene around her.

                "Stop daydreaming girl and help the doctor out!" a man scolded her as he wrapped a piece of dirty cloth around a man's head. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he too had received no sleep within the last three days.

                Taking a deep breath, Allison gathered her strength and ran over to what once was her family's dining room. They had had a beautiful oak table her grandfather made when her parents got married. It was finely crafted and sturdy, which had made it a perfect choice for the doctor's to operate on. Allison had originally protested against the use of the table, but her protesting was pointless. They were all overwhelmed with the amount of wounded men and any surface that could be spared was being used in trying to help save at least some of the soldiers.

                If you can hear me, let me know somehow.

                Ignoring the voice once more, Allison grabbed a hold of the moaning soldier, pressing hard on his shoulders as she had done what seemed hundreds of times before.

                "Am I gonna be okay?" the man asked her through gritted teeth, his eyes wild with panic and fogged with pain.

                Looking down at his muddied body, she could see that this man was only going to lose his foot and ankle- certainly not the worst wound she had witnessed.

                "What is your name, soldier?" she asked in her quiet voice.

                Did you just hear that!?!

                Frowning, Allison shook her head. The voice was very persistent today, though she supposed it did have to do with just how tired she had suddenly become.

                "My name is Harold Flack, 3rd Virginian Calvary." The man let out a scream as the doctor went to work sawing at the ankle bone without warning.

                Allison only pressed harder on his shoulders to keep the man down, leaning in close to him. "Don't you worry Mr. Flack, I have seen men with worse wounds survive."

                Allison, how did it feel to have doctors operating on your grandfather's table?

                Startled, Allison looked up from the pained man's face to see a group of men standing on the opposite side of her father's table, looking around as if searching for something. They were extremely strange looking, wearing clothing she had never seen worn before. They were also carrying items that shone a strange light and an energy she could not describe.

                "Who are you!" she demanded of them, suddenly very frightened.

                Two of the men holding the strange lights gasped and turned to face in the direction of Allison, but as soon as they turned, they flickered away from her sight.

                The doctor paused in his sawing to look over at Allison. "Are you okay?"

                Feeling more drained than ever, Allison only shook her head. "I think I'm just dizzy from not eating anything today," she murmured to the doctor.

                Allison, you don't have to keep doing this anymore. You are free. Be at rest. There aren't any soldiers needing your help anymore.

                Closing her eyes, Allison willed the voice to just leave her alone. She couldn't take it anymore. There were so many soldiers that needed her help, so many men that needed caring for. How could she ever just leave them?

                Sighing, the doctor waved a bloody hand toward the stairs. "Go and get an hour's rest. I can't have you so unfocused while trying to perform surgeries."

                Allison nodded gratefully and pulled one of the lesser wounded men from the floor to help hold down the man as the doctor finished his surgery.

                Running to what once had been her sewing room, she fell to the ground crying.

                Do you hear that? I think she's crying.

                "Yes fools, I'm crying! Can't you leave me alone!"

                Allison felt angry at the voice. She still didn't know where it was coming from or how to cope with it. Those men were so strange, so frightening with things she had never seen before.

                It had all become too much. She couldn't stand having these men in her home anymore. Her father's beautiful home had turned into a bloody hospital for men that were dying left and right. More and more died every day no matter what she did.

                Feeling the tears stream down her face, Allison knew that she couldn't live like she was any longer.

                Wait dude, wasn't this the time of night when Allison killed herself?

                Pausing, Allison frowned. How could they have known that was what she wanted to do?

                "I don't make a difference in anyone's lives anyways. All these men are going to die whether I am there for them or not."

                I have a letter here, Allison, from a man named Harold Flack. He lost his foot in a battle, and you helped him by talking to him. He said that you were his angel that gave him confidence to fight to live. He wanted to court you, Allison, but you went and killed yourself.

                "How is that possible? I haven't killed myself and Mr. Flack hasn't even finished with his surgery yet!"

                None of the strange voice's words were making sense. It was talking as if she had already died.

                If you can hear me, just let me know. You can move on now. Just open your eyes to the possibility that you've been stuck here and haven't moved on yet. We know you are here.

                Blinking, Allison backed up into the corner of her room, more terrified than ever. She felt she had gone crazy. It didn't make any sense, and yet she felt that she had relived the same last day over and over and over again, replaying in her mind so she could not escape. She had passed it off as if it was just one long nightmare that would eventually end, but now she wasn't so sure.

                "Please, help me, whoever you are."

                She said "help me"!

                Allison, if you can hear me, please just listen. It is the year 2000. It has been over 138 years to the date that you committed suicide. Many say it's because you felt you weren't helping any of those men downstairs and that it was all pointless, but it wasn't pointless. Many of those men survived because of you. Allison, stop torturing yourself.

                Sliding to the ground, Allison let out a few helpless sobs. She felt so confused, and yet it all made so much sense. Maybe she truly was already dead.

                Be at peace, Allison, be at peace.

                Taking a deep breath, Allison closed her eyes. She let go of everything around her- her home, all the men downstairs, the blood, the cries, the groans, all the memories she's ever had, and even the vague memory of herself taking a knife to her throat.

                "You're right. I need to move on."