Ken Burns' "The Civil War." With Dinosaurs.

Dearest Mother,

I write you from the battlefield. The Battle is over, for now. Night has fallen, or something did. We have set up camp on an old spittoon waiting for the next Battle to begin. I am weary, and tired, and sleepy, and other things having to do with not being fully awake. I am eating hard tack right now. That is all we ever eat. Hard tack soup; hard tack sandwiches; hard tack ice cream cones. I’ve lost almost all of my teeth because that hard tack is so ferociously hard, as its name would imply, O, Mother. But this is mere selfishness and vanity! I must not think on my own concerns or the insults to my fragile corporeal body on this Earth. The tribulations of Others are far, far greater than my own. Last night, a Velociraptor tore our Captain in half. He was shrieking something fierce. (The Captain being my meaning here, not the Velociraptor.) His pitiful cries did not dissuade the Veliciraptor from sinking its teeth into him. And then, with its prodigiously powerful yet surprisingly small forearms, the Velociraptor ripped the poor man asunder. Intestines splattered every which way! O horrible sight! Such Horror has become a common occurrence in our Struggles, though I am not inured to it. I do not long for Death, Mother, though I long for what comes after. In the next World there will be no more Dinosaurs. Of this I can only hope.

I remain your most loving and dutiful Son —

—Clement