Calem Wind blew in through the shattered bay windows, carrying flecks of snow in their grasps. No one would have guessed that a war was waged here only days ago. The fire in the center of the room lit the large room with its playful flames, casting our shadows around, and keeping the looming darkness out. This was the only structure left standing that was undamaged. All of the other building in our area had been burned, all that remained was their brick and steel skeletons. “Calem, what are we going to do? There is no food around here and we haven’t killed anything to feed the others.” Whispered Melanie. “I don’t know, without any vehicles we are going to have to travel on foot. The closest base is Carson, once we make it to there we may find some of adults. Just go to sleep for now, I’ll keep watch” I replied. The only thought that was going through my mind was to find my parents they would be able to keep my brother and I safe. Three days ago the troops passed through here torching everything in their way. They destroyed all of the vehicles, and burned down many of the houses. Luckily for our group the largest house in our small community was looted but not burned. None of the community’s working adults were home due to the new working arrangements that have come about since the fall of the old government. If you are over the age of twenty-one you are required to ride one of the trains into the various towns or bases to work, the only exceptions are those who are too old to do manual labor and are not specialized, their duty is to watch the children. When the troops marched through they killed the elderly, and left us to fend for ourselves. We thought that the trains would come home with our parents, but they ... ... middle of paper ... ... talking to the girls, “Well Stefanie and Carly will you both come with me.” As my father walked over to the elevator, the two girls that were following waved bye to Calem and Melanie. “Will they be okay?” He asked. “Yeah, Mrs. Thompson was a teacher before moving here.” I answered. “Before we make our way up you five need to make a wish in the waterfall,” Emma said. “It’s one of the traditions here.” On the ledge of the pool, is a basin full of colored glass stones. The stones were made when the buildings were torn down to make Haven. Engraved in the side of the basin is a poem my father use to tell me every night before I went to bed when I was young. Let your soul flow like water from a river, Around the hard spots, through the troubles, Over your worries, and out to your future. My mother wrote it before she died, it is the last reminder I have of her.
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
All of these hardships the soldiers faced caused an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and constant fear. To counter this sense of despair, the soldiers had many ways of coping with or avoiding the reality of the war. Tim O’Brien, with Going after Cacciato and In the Lake of the Woods, addresses th...
They found themselves expected to settle down into the humdrum routine of American life as if nothing had happened, to accept the moral dicta of elders who seemed to them still to be living in a Pollyanna land of rosy ideals which the war had killed for them. They couldn't do it, and they very disrespectfully said so.2
“Mama, do you remember why we came to America.” I said with wonder and curiosity in my eyes. “Yes dear, I remember the story, because, Grandma Tsunade has told me it enough times. I was about your little brothers age around 2, the day was an unforgettable event to, Grandma Tsunade. It was a bright summer day, the wind was blowing just right, and the older kids were working in the fields, the day was going perfectly, until(Mama paused for a second)... All of sudden “Boom! Boom! Boom!” bombs and mines were set off, shots were fired, and many people lost their lives that day. Grandma had to round up all the young ones and sadly had to leave the older kids in the field. As we were running we were stopped by a woman telling Grandma Tsunade to take
People around the city went to bed, everything seemed relatively normal. Smoke dwindling into the dark night sky, the faint smell of burning wood. All normal for Chicago. Fires were a daily part of life for this wooden city. Near the time of 2 a.m. the fire didn’t seem so normal and average anymore. A mean flame was being born, it was blazing to life.
Disaster! Would some up how the city looked. Fire fire fire fire it was everywhere. Blood screaming ,and very mournful people everywhere. The smell of burnt skin,and the sight of ashes hugged the city. Montag Walked carefully avoiding the surviving fireman. Montag he must find montag. Montag crouched behind a trash can the scent of burnt trash wrestled his nose. “ hush up about montag you fool”. “Do you not see what dealing with montag has caused our city”. “ I mean he has avoided us all this time; books must not be that bad”. The other fireman looked at fireman William as if he had been on trial for murder. “ that’s crazy talk William”. The smoke must be getting too you”. “Books is the reasons our city is like this”.
Each soldiers experience in the war was devastating in its own way. The men would go home carrying the pictures and memories of their dead companions, as well as the enemy soldiers they killed. “They all carried emotional baggage of men who might die. Grief, terror, love, longing- these were intangibles, but the intangibles had their own mass and specific gravity, they had tangible weight.” These were the things that weighed the most, the burdens that the men wanted to put down the most, but were the things that they would forever carry, they would never find relief from the emotional baggage no matter where they went.
I stumbled onto the porch and hear the decrepit wooden planks creak beneath my feet. The cabin had aged and had succumb to the power of the prime mover in its neglected state. Kudzu vines ran along the structure, strangling the the cedar pillars that held the roof above the porch. One side of the debacle had been defeated by the ensnarement and slouched toward the earth. However, the somber structure survives in spite. It contests sanguine in the grip of the strangling savage. But the master shall prevail and the slave will fall. It will one day be devoured and its remains, buried by its master, never to be unearthed, misinterpreted as a ridge rather than a
portrays them to be. The speaker chooses words such as “bent double, like old baggers” and “knock-kneed” (Owens 1-2) to expose the discomfort and effects that war has on young soldiers. The soldiers are discreetly compared to crippled old men which emphasizes just how badly war has affected their bodies, stripping them of their health, making them weak and helpless like “old beggars” (Owen 1). Furthermore, the speaker expresses his experience as a sold...
We cannot allow this to happen, even though our solution might endanger the rights of “suspected war criminals” that think your neighborhood is their battlefield. If the anti-war “victim/slave mentality” should ever become the majority opinion in America, then the lyrics of the rock group Kansas would become prophetic truth, “All we are is dust in wind!” Let’s be wary and vigilant and not permit this horrific catastrophe to happen! Wake up all you American Apologists while you still have precious breath in your lungs to do your pathetic apologizing! It’s now time for all Americans to openly acknowledge that Freedom Isn’t Free and that these dire times require the tried and true virtues of struggle, sacrifice, and perseverance.
relevant in today's world because it is a very relatable poem for anyone because it tells
building was consumed in flame. But amazingly, not one person was killed. Here is the first verse
This story brings back some harsh truths about warfare, and explains why so many naïve young men joined up, only to suffer deaths well before their time.
It’s a beautiful morning, as my group of friends and I wake up, we hear the pounding and the thrashing of the water slamming on the moss covered granite rock, I go down the eroded leaf covered pathway to fetch water just like I would do every morning, the sun had just begun to rise, the mixture of scarlet red, orange, and a bleach-like yellow beaming against the hurried water of the river that led into the waterfall shone like flakes of gold floating on top of the whitening water. The serene environment of the surrounding rocks overlooking the waterfall, the ambience of water clashing against the granite, and the aroma of the white pine filling the forest is an awe inspiring experience to all who dare make their way down the narrow and lengthy
As I exit the truck I can see panic in everyone’s eyes and hear crying as people watch the house in flames. There was fire everywhere; the roof was on fire, fire was coming through the windows and doorways. There was a very strong smell that took over the whole street, like melted materials and scorched