Disclaimer: All the names you recognize belong to Marvel comics.  I'm not
making any money.  Be kind.

Other Junk:I wanted to take Alara's Challenge with a historical edge. 
Unfortunately, I was too lazy to drag out my notes and stuff for
Historical Authenticity.  Hope it suits you.  Oh, and this is my first
story submitted and feedback's welcome.  Thanks!
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Red.  That's all she ever saw.  Red.  Red flowing like a river, and the
blue and gray of the uniforms were the banks of that red river.  The
smell of gangrene mingled with the smell of ether, causing her stomach to
turn. 

"Moira!" Her name barely registered as she continued to glance around. 
She did, however, come to what little sense she had when her arm was
yanked.  

"Moira, have you not been hearing me, woman?  I've been shouting your
name forever!"

"Ah--I'm sorr' Doc Lyons, bu'.." Moira MacTaggert shook her head and
pulled at the nursing cap placed on her brow.  "'tis jus' a terr'ble
thin', seein' all these bodies."

Stephen Lyons sighed and patted the woman's shoulders, "Being from
Scotland you should be used to the sight of war by now, girl."

'The Sight of War' her mind echoed.  She glanced around again.  "Whit is
th' purpose o'this war, again?"  She frowned as Lyons shrugged.

"Sibling rivalry dear.  Different than what you've seen back on those
Emerald Isles of yours.  Just, plain and simple sibling rivalry."  He
jolted as men brought more stretchers with more bodies.  

Moira stepped back, and bumped a cot.  The man there groaned.  She
glanced down and backed away from him.  His gray overcoat was torn, and
had visible bullet holes.  Blood, the red she saw all the time, was
matted all over the grey.  Next to him was a man in blue.  She recognised
him.  They had to take his leg and arm off that morning.  Emergency
amputation.  She took a deep breath.  More blood, more red. 

Her mind kept filling with the colors of blue, gray and red.  The colors
of this war.  Out of reflex, more than anything else, she reached down to
the 'Reb' to check his pulse.  "Git this lad oot'a here.  He be stone
col' dead now."  After that, she began moving through the clocks as if
stuck in a daze.  The only words she ever spoke was the request to have a
dead body removed.  Once she made her rounds, she realized that the
"hospital" was bare.  But only for a few moments.  Bodies began to fill
the spaces almost immediately.

It was then that she became aware of the background noise.  So drowned in
red that she was oblivious to the constant cannon fire and calvary
charges just over a few ridges away.  The war was so terribly close.  She
knew that it usually wasn't this close.  The war would abandon it's
injured as they fell, only returning when the battle was decreed "over". 
The little town was "fortunate" enough to be near the battle that the
wounded was pulled away from the field to be treated.

Moira felt like screaming.  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew
why the war was happening.  Or at least, what the papers said. 
Oppression.  Slavery.  Injustice.  She also remembered that the war was
supposed to end in a month.  Two years later, they were still fighting. 
Just a few months ago, she remembered reading about a bloody three day
battle in Pennsylvania.  It made her heart ache for both sides.  Mothers
on both sides wouldn't be seeing sons again.  Ladies on both sides would
never see their beaux again.

Why?  Why the senseless fighting?  The meaning was lost.  She frowned and
backed away from the patient she just treated.  Why all the blood?  The
hatred?  Why? Why!?  

"Why!?" She suddenly shrieked, having backed herself in a corner.  She
scooted down, and hugged herself.  Lyons quickly ran to herside, as well
as several other attendants, ready to administer a sedative.  "Why,
Steve?" She asked, "Why're they doo'n this?  Tisnae doin' a damn bit'a
good nae more.  I' doan bluidy matter now whether a mon be a Yankee or a
Rebel?  Tisnae aboot whether they be wearin' blue'r gray.  Th' blood's
red!  All'a it.  Tis red!"

Lyons nodded and the sedative was administered.  He watched as she
drifted to a sleep, probably just moments before she snapped into
madness.  "As far as the 'why' goes, Moira.  Just call it," He took a
deep breath, and turned to see the wounded, and the dead being carried
out, "Just call it human nature."
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