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Overcome adversity
Overcoming Adversity Essay
Overcoming Adversity Essay
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More handpicked essays just for you.
Overcome adversity
Overcoming Adversity Essay
Overcoming Adversity Essay
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Nestled deep in the Smoky Mountains, is a small cabin. The family it once sheltered has long been gone. Once filled with life and hope, it now sits empty and bare. It stands as a monument to a time long gone, but soon it to will disappear. Disintegrating on the outside, rotting on the inside, and drowning in the ever thickening forest, it slowly crumbles away.
As the 104th moves on from their real first test of battle, Stash is relieved he made it out of there alive. One thing for sure that this first battle taught him is always to be aware of what is around him. He told himself, just like in training, he can’t take his eye off anything from this point forward. He now knows this is real. There is no going back now.
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
Silk coats with brass buttons gleamed in the summer sun. Gaudy colors flashed in the volunteer firemen's parade The bright red and yellow felt pressed hats like poppies and daisies in a field, each painted with elaborate insignias and company emblems. I had not seen such a pageant since the war began, when fresh faced young boys marched out to defend the Union. Some returned men, hardened and roughed by conflict, if they returned at all. Oswald, my husband, stood at my side and complained loudly about the volunteer firefighters.
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.
It was a cold autumn evening, colder than normal for Germany around this time. Franz looked at his pocket watch, it was about quarter after 11. The swastika was worn proudly on Franz’s left upper arm. He saw the animals within the barbed zoo, striped like zebras. Hanz was enjoying a piece of bread his wife prepared for him this morning, but his face had a look of discomfort.
This month we are going to discover Wild West. So we are flying to San Francisco in a few hours (or we are already there depending on when you are reading this). We (Gerald & I) are excited to experience the unspoiled beauty of Yosemite, the deadly heat of Death Valley, the special canyons of the Virgin River in Zion, unparalleled color spectacle of a sunset in Bryce Canyon and the fathomless depths of the Grand Canyon. Taste the history of buccaneers and adventurers on Route 66 and Highway 1 and relax on the beaches of San Simeon and Monterey on the Pacific Ocean. Meet the friendly Americans 'good old ' San Francisco and Los Angeles, and try our luck in Las Vegas.
Now The storm rolls in over the forest, barely visible through the tree tops. My hot breath fogging the window pane. The tears stinging my eyes, gradually running down my cheeks and dotting the window sill. Footsteps approach and slow to a halt beside me.
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.
"Everyone to your houses, lock the doors, board the windows and any place that you can get into your house. " Said the voice through the loudspeaker in the middle of the old town where there are no flowers, only cowboys and crows, and horses. Right now the streets were littered with people scrambling to get to safety in their house. All of the people are rushing to get to their countryside house.
One evening during the winter, a massive blizzard hit Tennessee. The storm knocked out power all across West Tennessee leaving many people without a way to reach out for help. However, there were a few houses in a rural neighborhood whose power was still on. One of these houses belonged to the Watson’s family. “Mom, why do our neighbors not have power but we do?”
It’s a cool evening March, I know so because the hairs on my arms can’t stop talking to me, and even though the sky is not really visible through the luscious grown forest trees I can still make out the eerie glow of the moon envelope the dark path that lays ahead. Suddenly I hear the crunch of footsteps; they were barely audible not much louder than a fading whisper noticeable among the forest seemingly holding its breath. I haven’t had much luck looking for the one they called Grendel and so I was tempted to sprint in the direction of the footsteps. The thought that it could have been my mind wanting to hear something that wasn’t there crept unto me as I decided to just slightly pick up my pace instead. As I kept going the only sound I heard
The trees were whispering like an audience preparing for a show. Ahead of me I saw blurs of color slowly descending the crystal white slopes. The anticipation inside me was building up like a bomb ready to explode. The hill was a beast, wanting to be defeated. I was as scared like I was at the top of twenty story high rollercoaster about to go down.