Personal Narrative Essay On Honor And Stereotypes

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I’m not someone you’ll know for my actions. I will not be given medals for honor or recognition, not be written on a plaque or statue. Maybe in a report my name will be mentioned in a footnote, hardly legible. That is alright however. I don’t need that. Nobody does. They are metals, melted down and reshaped. No one knows the man who shapes cheap medals into awards for winners. I am always meant to be on the side. The background. But all that doesn’t matter. I sit here, with my legs outstretched and my eyes closed. I am leaning against the cold hard metal of Blue, but my insides are still fiery. The adrenaline running through my veins is not enough to keep my overworked body erect. I don’t cry. I lost things to cry about. It’s more like,

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