A long time ago, there was a great nation which aggrandized through peace and prosperity. In fact, they had not encountered any foes for a great time, only dealing with amorphous invaders who were quickly taken care of. Even though they were a peaceful nation, its army was far from sleazy. A young boy, whose name has been long forgotten, strived to be the one of the greatest warriors in the nation. His insular attitude was due to his brother, who was a high ranking soldier at the time. As the boy grew older, his sedulous personality stuck with him, and spent a great amount of time in erudite study of combat. He was the archetype of fighters, and was noticed by the leader of the nation himself. He was a gossamer man, who did not appear to be …show more content…
Many other nations could not understand the inscrutable peace within the walls of the cities, and remonstrated with a thirst for battle. The man led the army, and reverberated with a force so great that any enemy nations would quickly be beaten. One day, a great army filled with scurrilous soldiers started to march towards the boundaries of the peaceful nation. The leader of the nation, who was now frail and old, told his army to fight, but have his former student stay behind, to protect him from any danger. The man was querulous, because all he could do was watch as the army charge into battle, knowing that a great amount of blood would be spilled. He grew tired of waiting, and left his post to go fight alongside his brother. He fought for what seemed like forever, but his resilience continued. Once he was sure that his allies could handle the rest of the forces, the man quickly went back to his leader’s post, to inform him the battle had been won. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. The great leader was on the ground, with a fatal wound through his chest. As the man’s brother came into the room, he immediately comforted the distressed fighter. After he mourned the loss of his former teacher, the man went to the council to inform them of what …show more content…
The main official spoke up, saying that the great warrior was to be executed the next day for the murder of their nation’s leader. The man repudiated, stating that he was in the middle of the fight when the leader was murdered. However, they still found him guilty, not listening to his defense. Speechless, the warrior left the hall, thinking of his next plan of action. He was determined to find the real assassin, and prove his innocence, but most importantly avenge the man who taught him to be a fighter. Early the next morning he quickly left the city, heading towards the domains of the opponent in the previous battle they fought. His former home put a great bounty on his head, and branded him with the nickname of: the unforgiven. The man found humor in this, and gave himself a nickname too, the wanderer. With nothing but his sword and determination, he continued to travel to find his
Broteer was an African prince of the tribe of Dukandarra in Guinea. His father, Saungm Furro, was well off and king. When Broteer was six years old, his province was invaded by a large army of about 6000 men and very well equipped. The leaders of this army required Saungm to pay a large sum of money and livestock in order for his army not to invade. The king agreed in order to save his people from the hardships of conflict. However, he was informed by a friend or acquaintance that the army was not one of honor and did not keep their word. Therefore, Saungm set out to save his family and flee from the invaders. He set out in two groups in order to keep the traveling parties smaller and less noticeable. However, as they were camped and had lit a fire, a scouting party discovered their location from the smoke and captured the family. The king was killed for failing to divulge his riches, but Broteer and the women were treated more tolerantly since they were more submissive. After his capture, Broteer was made a waiter of a scouting party. He set out with them on hunts and soon discovered that these people were efficient and quick to lay waste to herds and to people. They often would sack villages and captured the inhabitants. The army continued to march and attack village after village. But as they did so, the size of the ...
John Keegan, the author of “The Face of Battle” is allowing the reader to view different perspective of history, from the eyes of the soldier. Although by his own account, Keegan acknowledges, “I have never been in a battle. And I grow increasingly convinced that I have very little idea of what a battle can be like.” Keegan scorns historians for pointing the finger of failure after an evolution occurs and not examining the soldier’s point of view while the battle is transpiring.
After war Daru had requested to be transferred to a small town, where the silence of the town echoes in the schoolhouse; and it was hard on him. Now that he has company the same silence still muter the house. He thought about war and how he fought next to other men, whom he got to know and to love. The presence of the Arab imposes on Daru a feeling of brotherhood that he knew very well, and that he didn’t want to share. Men that fought together, or share rooms, or were prisoners or soldiers grow a peculiar alliance. However, Daru tries not to think about it, such feelings aren’t good for him. Daru wishes the Arab runs away because he feels as much of a prisoner as the
Dealing with enemies has been a problem since the beginning of time. “I never killed anybody,” Gene had commented later in his life, “And I never developed an intense level of hatred for the enemy. Because my war ended before I ever put on a uniform, I was on active duty all my time at Devon; I killed my enemy there.” In A Separate Peace, by John Knowles, the value of dealing with enemies is shown by Gene, who was dealing with few human enemies, but his emotions created far greater rivals than any human could ever posses.
Throughout our history, both recorded and unrecorded, there have been countless violent battles fought. From small skirmishes to full on declarations of war, humans have been involved with battling on another for all the reasons that they have. The only thing alarming is that, as time and technology progresses, the number of casualties and collateral damage have been increasing as well. In addition, the implications to the human mind, brought upon by the excessive violence, can be equally damaging. With that being said, the psychological implications brought upon by war can be reflected in several art forms, such as poetry.
guilt, greed, betrayal, and murder are no strangers. In this story an honorable warrior and
Often, one may sense a conflict that one must fight against an intangible enemy that one feels is there. The temptation of competition, envy, or peer pressure can cause one to change one’s actions and ideals, even when this conflict only prevails in one’s own mind. When the mind generates a war that does not even exist, the premise is most likely an incomprehension of the subject matter, leading to assumption about the situation based on one’s knowledge, creating a self-waged war. These controlling cranial concoctions remain an important theme in literature, especially literary compositions on the subject of historical wars themselves. One such example lies in A Separate Peace by John Knowles, a novel on the subject of World War II from the perspective of prep school students. In the novel, the protagonist Gene creates his own wars based on the ignorant presumption that his associates compete with him, his personal battles reflect the large-scale wars fought by adults, and Knowles utilizes these personal wars to convey a moral lessson to the reader.
War as seen through the eyes of Ambrose Bierce in An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge depicts it as truly gritty. The author successfully sends a message of how death is a part of war, and it is not as noble or glorious as one would think it is. Due to popular media, we have this attitude that the protagonist is going to go down in a blaze of glory, and while it may be true for some, it is not like that for everyone. War is rough, dark, and gritty but no one ever wants to talk about those parts of war because it would ruin the fantasy of it.
In the Story of An Hour, Mrs. Mallard seemed to me like an old misunderstood woman and as we are told in the very first line, afflicted with a heart trouble. I was surprised later, when it said that she was young. I think that Chopin is showing us a social situation of the times with the woman as a prisoner of her husband. Marriage was not always about mutual love between two people and during that time Chopin was writing, which was during 1804-1904, this was often the case. Marriage was as much about monetary comfort, social status as it was about possible love. There are no children mentioned in the story, which makes me wonder if there was a sexual relationship between the Mallards.
In the beginning of the short story, the young boy is already imprinted with the ideas of war from his father. His father was a former soldier who “had fought against naked savages and followed the flag of his country..” (Bierce 41). The image of war that is imprinted on the young boy from his father is that of nobility and righteous that comes from war.
In the story of an hour, Kate Chopin’s focal point is on an American woman’s dramatic hour of awakening. Mrs. Millard lives a psychologically lethargic life because of the social situation during the nineteenth century. Josephine knows that her sister suffers from a heart condition so when Mr. Millard’s friend tells her about the news, Josephine breaks the news to her sister in “broken sentences and “veiled hints” (688). When she hears the news of her husband she is obviously sad but feels a new sense of freedom. Alone in her room, Louise begins a transformation that empowers her with a “clear and exalted perception” (689). She soon finds out her husband was not near the accident when he arrives home. Spotting her husband alive kills Louise. The doctor claims that she died of the joy of seeing her husband but in reality she died because her joy was stripped away.
One of the worst things about war is the severity of carnage that it bestows upon mankind. Men are killed by the millions in the worst ways imaginable. Bodies are blown apart, limbs are cracked and torn and flesh is melted away from the bone. Dying eyes watch as internal organs are spilled of empty cavities, naked torso are hung in trees and men are forced to run on stumps when their feet are blown off. Along with the horrific deaths that accompany war, the injuries often outnumber dead men. As Paul Baumer witnessed in the hospital, the injuries were terrifying and often led to death. His turmoil is expressed in the lines, “Day after day goes by with pain and fear, groans and death gurgles. Even the death room I no use anymore; it is too small.” The men who make it through the war take with them mental and physical scarification from their experiences.
pick up all my belongings, I look at the other person and what I see
It was about one-thirty in the morning in the town of Homestead Michigan. The almost florescent light of the moon bouncing off the fresh puddles that covered the ground. The grass and trees were covered in a thin layer of water causing every little beam of light to reflect back up. Anyone who may have been outside at this time would have without double, smelled the mix of fresh dirt and night crawlers. As the moonlight started to fade away through the cloud cover, three buses made there way through the streets and parked in front of HHS, the local high school.
The shrill cries of my alarm echo across vermilion painted walls, stirring my consciousness into an aware state. It is precisely eight o’clock on a warm summer Monday; the distant cries of mockingbirds can be heard above the soft whirring of cars passing our genteel residential street. My ears scan the house; it is quiet – barely a sound other than the tinkling of tags as our pets navigate the living room. The still morning air brought realization, with no children running around Mother must have already left for work. Never leaving my lax position I stretch and sigh, it is nice to not have to baby-sit my sister’s kids – my nieces and nephew – but I do miss the mornings where my mother would still kiss me goodbye.