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Life in trenches creative writing
How to tell a true war story literary devices
How to tell a true war story literary devices
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Kristina and Trey gathered all of their little belongings mostly caring about the lockbox containing about $3,600 of the finest mexican glass a.k.a meth. Rushing out of their little apartment as soon as possible after seeing a wanted picture in the newspaper of kristina stealing money illegally with a fake id. She thought it was odd that she had very very little remorse about getting up and leaving without saying goodbye to her baby that wouldn't even recognize her, her mom which she stole her identity and money from. It didn't phase her and she kept loading what little belongings she had into Trey's mustang. They rushed onto the snowy freeway still tweaked as usual, but exhausted from no sleep like usual and running from the police and the mexican drug lord that they owe and weren't planning on paying back.
It was a beautiful day for the beautiful game of baseball to be played in the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, Chicago: breezy, sunny, but not a scorching hot, sweat-bead kind of day. Merely six miles south of Wrigley Field, we boarded the CTA purple line el train, along with clusters and clusters of Chicago Cubs fans also getting on each and every rail car from who knows where. But, let me tell you, I was in awe; I have never been with so many true fans who knew, not only baseball, but knew the Cubs! “Who’s ready for the Cubs to crush the Astros!”
It’s spring now and the winter was terrible let me tell you. There were 10 people dying every day from starvation or freezing to death or disease it was terrible. When we were marching there from the last battle we heard that there was going to be food there for 8 months turns out there was only food for 8 days. General Edwin and a bunch of other soldiers and commanders asked if they could leave and George had to let them go he just asked them if they would come back in the Spring ready to go. Hundreds of soldiers deserted valley Forge and went back home to their families.
Spent shell casings, shrapnel, and even body parts are starting to litter the landscape. Stash knows he’s in trouble. Ammunition is coming from all directions as guys scatter to find cover. Guys are shouting to take cover and return fire.
The man looked onto the battlefield close and far as the dirt landed and slid off his face the sound of bombs were muffled the cries of men were sharp and penetrating he stood over the breech with such comfort while a hundred thousand fear riddled eyes stared from behind he turned his face deep wrickled and rugged filthy his eyes with dark bags underneath from nights with no sleep but the faces he saw were much different men no more than 30 with their whole lives maybe not even 10 minutes ahead of them he's seen it a hundred times before he knew these men were divided they were there together but they were going in it alone with this in mind the man stared back and spoke "At the edge of our hope... At the end of our time... WE CHOOSE TO BELIEVE
Through thundering guns and cannon fire; you can hear the helpless cries of the abandoned, wounded soldiers or bold attackers, storming and laughing in the face of death. Some men prayed, while others pleaded. Some men held pictures or mementos; of longed sweethearts and family before carefully tucking them away inside of their jackets, for some of their loved ones, will never be seen again
The devastation behind the soldier stood on the edge of his mind, but nevertheless was not in his thoughts. The man standing in front of him dominated his thoughts and instigated a war deep within the soldier. The man was plain on all accounts; he was middle-aged, wore glasses, had a receding hairline, but his image was now stained in the soldier’s memory. This man merely wanted to get by, most likely to confirm the death of a loved one, but no matter how many times the soldier thought about it, he would never know exactly why. The only knowledge that burdened the soldier was his duty, and his duty was to keep this man at bay.
Dear Mother, It’s has been indisputable here in the trenches, I’m in dire need of new socks. The doctors say they might have to amputate my foot if my trench foot gets any worse. Also if you could provide me with some next time you send me a package I would be beholden to you. In addition to the already gruesome situation, the rats have begun to eat the dead in no man’s land, and steal my bread when I’m not looking.
They trudged through the vast land, hopeful of assistance nearby. The sun harshly beat down on the troop without any second thoughts of sympathy. “Keep going! We’re almost there.” exclaimed Ernest Warner reassuringly, the leader of the troop.
Drew was having a normal day, tracking down bandits, wearing his big duster coat and cowboy hat. He saw one and fired! He missed the bandit and Drew began to chase him. He heard a man yelling behind him. This is how it all started.
The C-47 circled over New River Marine Corps Air Station in Jacksonville, North Carolina. It had been over a year since any aircraft had flown over the air station. Ten minutes later the aircraft rolled up to the terminal where Lieutenant General Patrick and his staff, to include Colonel Flat and the Seal Team Commander, Lieutenant Williams waited. Within minutes Brigadier General John Clayton and Colonel March popped out of the plane to greet the men, five later President Washington stepped out of the aircraft to the Marine Corps band playing hail-to-the-chief.
So long as he had been able to hold a view of things in which time was just moments, then days, each one destroying itself in the next; so long, that is, as it was a process without sequence, he could face himself and hang on. Living was vertical. You stood up new in each moment of it, and if you were strong, and luck was with you, you got from one moment to the next. It was all moments and leaps. But now he had to take on again the notion of a self that was continuous, that belonged to the past and was to have a hfe again in the future.
Henry and I, walked swiftly to the middle of the camp. I read his mind and could hear that he didn’t want to be late, just in case they punished boys for being late. Henry and I, stood side by side and waited for other boys to show up. Within five minutes, the entire field was completely full. About one hundred men equipped with electronic guns and dressed in black equipment marched around rows of boys.
The Sniper The air was clean and the westward breeze had just begun to settle in; Thresher was still glancing at the mobilization order on the table. He had been in the army only for three months now. He was being called out to war! Not just any war, this one was going to be a game changer. For the last seventeen months, several aid workers had been held captive in a hostile zone.
He turned the corner, across the street should have been Mr. Charrington’s shop, but all that stood there now was a mass of rumble and charred timbers. Rocket bombs, he thought, They rocket bombed this whole street. Looking down the block he noticed here and there other buildings in the same state as the shop. His eyes returned to what remained of Charrington’s shop, and standing with her back to him in front of the rumble, was Julia. Certainly her waist had gotten thicker, her skin sallower—so had his—but it was becoming easier and easier to recognize her from the back as he once did.
