Descriptive Essay: All Quiet On The Western Front

The rough fabric of the sack grated her face as she hit the ground, landing on her side and slamming her head. Sweet chirps flitted through the air above her, dancing. Birds. She could hear them for the first time in months. So she was outside? Did that mean it was over? That her torture was going to end? The wretched sack was ripped off her head, along with some of her hair. She was yanked back by the neck of her dress, forced into a kneeling position. Ropes wrenched at her wrists and ankles, tearing at her scabs. Cautiously, her eyes slid open to blinding pain as she stared into the sun. At first, she could only pick out the most prominent details, but the blurriness gradually faded. She felt groggy, as if she had been knocked out. Trees

He nodded, tilting his head as he did so. Claude. It could only be Claude. No one else tilted their head that way. Slowly, slowly, he raised his arm, his fingers curled familiarly around the handle of a gun. How many people had he killed with it? How many more would die at his hand? This person in front of her was not the one she had known; that Claude was long buried, replaced with this heartless being about to kill her. How would she bring him home? He terrified her. Claude, her own flesh and blood. “Why?” Eliza pleaded. “I still love you. You’re my big brother, you’re supposed to keep me safe. I don’t care if you’re-” The gun handle smashed into her face, impressing its cruel lines into her skin. Blood mixed with dirt as she crashed into the ground, her breath ripped forcefully from her lungs. Another wound to add to her long list of injuries. Ha, battle scars. Battle scars of a war she didn’t care about. How had this happened? How had she ended up in this mess in the first place? Not too long ago, she had been a farm girl in Virginia, running barefoot through the woods with the wind in her hair. Now her brother was about to kill her.
Claude’s low hiss brought her back to the present. “I don’t have a sister,” he spat. Claude stepped back, no hint of emotion on his face. His rage had subsided already, satisfied with this last offering of blood. Once again, she was yanked back into the kneeling

Her father had barricaded them in, as the mob surrounding their house grew, even as their fields and barn burned. The stench of burning animal flesh numbed her nose, the shrieks of dying animals deafened her ears. Claude had never come home that night, and the men from the gathering were still there. Her mother was the acting drill sergeant, ordering them about the house. In different circumstances, it would have triggered at least a snigger. Eliza helped out any way she could, until her mother forced her into the cellar.
“One of us is getting out alive, Eliza. You need to find your brother and bring him back home. Get into the crawlspace you two dug out, and don’t leave until this is all over and done with.” Her mother’s fierce eyes didn’t betray a single fear: She already knew she wouldn’t see the sun rise. The smell of smoke permeated the damp cellar, and it wouldn’t be long until it spread to the house proper. Squeezing into the small crawlspace dug into the wall, Eliza held off the tears as best she could. If she was going to find Claude and bring him back, she would need to stay strong. She could always cry