Creative Writing: Going To War
- Length: 1469 words (4.2 double-spaced pages)
- Rating: Excellent
Going to War
The arrival of winter was well on its way. Colorful leaves had turned to brown and fallen from the branches of the trees. The sky opened to a new brightness with the disappearance of the leaves. As John drove down the country road he was much more aware of all his surroundings. He grew up in this small town and knew he would live there forever. He knew every landmark in this area. This place is where he grew up and experienced many adventures. The new journey of his life was exciting, but then he also had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach of something not right.
Three weeks ago John, twenty four years old, finished his fourth semester of college. He enjoyed college life, fraternity friends and everything that goes along with college. Because of a car accident several years ago, he did not start college on time like most of his friends, but he was working his way through. He had not passed two of his last semester classes, but wasn't worried he would retake them in the summer. Then the dreaded letter arrived in the mail. John was being drafted; he was going to war. Colleges notify the draft board when students fail classes. Immediate red flag!
John would have to travel to an army base for his basic training, and then he would be assigned directly to Pakistan to fight in the war. As upsetting as it would be to leave his home and college life, he knew it was his responsibility to go. If he had only studied a little harder, or gone to a professor for extra help, he would probably be returning to school. But these were the consequences he would have to face, and he would face them like a man.
A big "celebration" dinner was planned for John's going away. All of his family and close friends came to enjoy good food and fellowship before leaving in the morning. His parents were to drive him to the airport where he would fly to the army base. The same base his father trained at many years ago. John's father was proud of his son, but also a little concerned, for he realized the seriousness of this war.
After all of the guests wished John well and left for their journey home, John went for that last ride through his homeland.
How to Cite this Page
|Essay on The Car Park- Creative Writing - I arrive at the car park, late as I usually am. My friends are there already, organised, prepared, ready. I, on the other hand, am not. The thought of performing anything in front of a crowd always seemed to be something that, how can I say it, levelled my conscience to that of a small school child on his first day at school. The 30 minute car trip to the venue however, was my chance to ensconce my childish fears, as I listen to music. To me, music is the gateway from one dimension to another.... [tags: Creative Writing Examples]||724 words|
|Creative Writing: American Soldier in Iraq Essay - "RUN!!" I heard a fellow soldier screaming as I looked around. "RUN!" I started to take off but I was too late. I am an American soldier and I just got my leg blown off by a grenade. As I lay here crying, yelling out in pain, I think about why I am even here. The president thought that Saddam Hussein MIGHT have had weapons of mass destruction (WMD), so he sent me here to die. After we searched and found that Hussein did not have any WMDs, what did President Bush decide to do. Send more troops (SIRS).... [tags: Creative Writing Essay]||1473 words|
|Letter Home from the Trenches- Creative Writing Essay - Dear Josephine, I have not received any letters back from home today. In fact, now I come to think of it, it’s been almost two weeks since I have received anything from back home. Regardless, I still write back with high optimism that my family receive some of my letters. I hope that my mother and father are well. I dreamt about them last night. I could see them sleeping and wishing me a safe trip home. It frightens me to think I may die out here and them being totally oblivious still wishing me a safe trip home.... [tags: Creative Writing Essay]||494 words|
|Creative Writing: Ernest and The Sargeant Essay - The afternoon sun shined down Ernest's back as he stood on his toes to get a look over the trench wall. All of the men had been warned not to look over, despite the natural inclination to do so. Even when there was no attack at the moment, a random sniper shot could bring death to a soldier on his first day of service. “Johnson!” Ernest quickly lowered back down into the trench. He turned to the sergeant behind him. “Do you want to get killed Private?” The sergeant barked. “No sir!” Ernest hastily replied.... [tags: trench, the soldier]||1683 words|
|Essay on Creative Writing: The Flu Virus - The flu virus has spread throughout the building, there were children shivering in the arms of their mothers, anxious fathers and frightened medics. As the President, Tom Mason had very little help to offer; they were under-staffed with the outside world only glimpsing at their troubles. When the first child commenced to cough blood, Lourdes Delgado snapped. Storming down the corridors, every man stepped out of the way as she barged into the royal office. The startled gasps did very little to hinder her confidence.... [tags: violence, frightened medics]||618 words|
|Creative Writing: The Aftermath Essay - THE PAST; In days gone by, the four species managed to live in perfect harmony. Witches, werewolves and vampires lived in secret, blending in with the humans on a daily basis - and the humans remained completely in the dark about their existence. It was after thousands of years of living this way, whilst everything was completely normal, that a small group of vampires decided that they’d had enough. They spent months devising plans. They constructed great ideas of ways to overthrow the human rule, to achieve the true power that they felt they deserved.... [tags: hide, survival, vitches, werewolves, vampires]||594 words|
|Essay on Creative Writing: Missing Twightlite - Though he has been dead for years, I still think about him now and then. I am proud of him, for winning the battle that mattered most. It was twilight, late November, and cold outside, the kind of evening when you try to stay inside and stay warm. I hadn’t heard the phone ring when your Grandma came in our living room to tell me it was for me. It was Lloyd, the local ward bishop, and a counselor at the high school. After a brief greeting, he asked if I could assist one of my neighbors.... [tags: memory, firends, vietnam]||1604 words|
|Creative Writing: GILF Essay - ... Nothing new is any good, it’s all bollocks, the internet is Satan, nothing is ever made like it used to be and kids are in need of a bloody good war. Rather than dwell on the state of the world they shut out everything else but themselves, become blinkered and bitter. Their wives, if they still have them, become ghosts long before their time, shadow people that leave food on the table and wash their husband’s socks while husband spends his time pottering. Pottering never actually achieved anything in Anne’s book, or tinkering for that matter.... [tags: dialogue, anne, millie]||1663 words|
|Essay on The Blast of War - The Blast of War "Boxer, this is flight control. The pattern is full; maintain current heading and set throttle to one-niner-zero." "Copy that Lincoln, one-niner-zero." Lieutenant Erica "Boxer" Swanson reached out to the cockpit console and pressed the button which would lock in her heading. Sitting back in her seat, she slid the throttle lever on her left slowly back until the display on the console counted down to read 190 MPS. With the flick of a switch above her head she turned off her electron shielding, noting the flicker of a greenish light outside her cockpit as the shielding dispersed.... [tags: Dialogue Essays Creative Writing]||6167 words|
|Prisoner of War Essay - You wake, lying in mud, chained to a wall like a dog on a lead. You look around but nothing's in focus, just blurred figures lying down or sitting, some crying. You're cold, a winter breeze flows through the room through bars in the wall. Smells; you recognise them, blood, urine and vomit, stagnant, lingering. You feel sick, but have nothing in you to throw up. A shape appears at the door, and then disappears but only for a second. It returns, you feel nervous, what is it. Who is it.... [tags: Creative Writing Examples]||756 words|
There was one person he must meet with before his departure.
He drove up to the small red brick house. The outside lamp was burning, and he could see the television playing through the front window. His friend since he was ten was sitting in the recliner, waiting for John's arrival. John was nervous as he knocked on the door. This visit would be different than all of the others throughout the years.
His friend of many years came to the door. The friendly smile was always a welcomed sight to John. Today his friend appeared a little grayer around his face and more concerned than usual. John entered the living room and sat down on the green and blue plaid couch to visit. John's friend was the family priest, who always had extra time to spend with anyone at any time. He was a remarkable person, who always had the best advice.
John wanted to see his priest before going so far away. He needed to clear his mind and shoulders of a few troublesome things that were bothering him. A good confession always made John feel better, even though it was not his favorite thing to do. After a long soul searching visit, John was on his way home for a good nights rest in his bed.
Early morning came quickly. The morning was crisp and cold. Frost was covering the entire outdoors like a heavy white wool blanket. John's bags were packed and he went downstairs to have breakfast with family one final time. Everything seems to be so final, which worried John. His priest told him these were normal feelings but John seemed to worry about the feelings he had.
The breakfast was especially good this morning. The bacon was perfect and the smell of the over easy eggs filled the room. The biscuits were as light and fluffy as ever, with fresh honey dripping down the sides. Good conversation filled the room, and soon it was time to go.
John gathered his bags and loaded them into the back of his fathers red pickup truck. His mom and dad came along to send him off. The truck ride was quiet on the trip to the airport. It was still early morning and not many people were out on the road yet.
The airplane takes off as John's parents watch from the airport window. Although they were both apprehensive about this journey, they knew John would do his best. He had always been a hard worker and conscientious about his responsibilities. School had always been a struggle for John, but that never stopped his willingness to want to learn.
The airplane landed on time and an armored car was waiting to take John to the army base. After collecting his bags, he was on his way. A new mission about to begin.
The stark barracks, which John was assigned to, loomed like an empty barn. Iron post beds; with thin flat mattresses and a small closet for him to keep his belongings in. He was assigned clothing and boots to wear for his training. Training began immediately. The officer greeted the new recruits, lined the men up and marched them to the barbershop, where all men experience a fresh new haircut. Especially fresh because of the cold air. The weeks passed by quickly with week four ready to begin. Homesickness was not a bad as he envisioned. Although he had experienced some with college he knew he could come home anytime. This was a little different; it really wasn't a free will choice. The meals were not as bad as he anticipated, and the early morning runs were pretty invigorating.
Basic training came to a close; John's family came to the graduation and brought John home for a few weeks, until it was time to leave for Pakistan. The training John received prepared him well for the trip. But John would soon find out Pakistan was not anything like his homeland.
Departure day arrived too quickly. Although John was not ready to leave his home again; he knew he had a commitment to do his best. John's priest came to wish him well before him leaving. This was such a comfort to John, with a quick confession; he was on his way, with hopes of returning in two years.
John's new mission took him deep into Pakistan country, far away from his comfortable home. John met with many of his friends from basic training; friendly faces of which he greatly welcomed in this strange new land. There were many, many new faces of strangers he would soon some to know as a friend.
Many battles were fought, with no American man or woman to yet lose their life. There were many tense times in this foreign land; tension of battles to be fought; lands unknown; and homesickness. Homesickness like John had never experienced before. Comfort came to John in letters from home and the thought of his priests last comforting words the morning before his last departure.
Soldiers woke to screaming sirens and loud shots of gunfire early Sunday morning. The day was so early; the skies were still midnight black. John and his fellow soldiers scrambled to get their guns and fighting gear. They were caught somewhat off guard in the early morning hours. They fought until late afternoon, just before the midnight sky returned. John was fighting thoughts of defeat when the invading troops began retreating. The true meaning of war had come to John and his friends; many men, their own and the enemy had lost their life.
John slept uneasy that evening, remembering over and over again the fright he felt only a few short hours ago. He thought of his family and wondered if he would ever be home again to see them. He was not sure of hell, but felt certain these afternoon events were close to what it may really be like. John began to recall many comforting words from his priest throughout his short life. John quietly made a confession to God about the day's events and the lives he had taken. Even though it was war, he had still taken lives; and this thought bothered John greatly.
Today John realized he was doing his country a great deal of duty as he drifted off for a short sleep, before tomorrow's events began.
“This is a beautiful war,” she said with her eyes, as we stood in the hallway, both saying goodbye.
And I realized this was how we live our lives.
There is a Beautiful War raging inside of us. It is the story of our world, the story of our lives.
Photo credit: Flickr (Creative Commons)
It’s worry and wonder, awe and impulse. It’s the first day of school and the final breath. A baby’s strained peas and a killer’s last meal.
It’s the pain we are trying to escape, the suffering we are trying to numb.
We see it; we sense it. And yet, it eludes us: the conflict of heaven and earth crashing together on this glorious battlefield, a playground of bruised and battered dreams — all in a climax of grace and redemption.
When we were young, we were told that Evil would be vanquished, that Good would prevail. In innocence, we believed that Good was enough.
But no one ever told us this would hurt,
that it would cost us our lives.
That there’d be no going back.
No one ever told us about the War. The beautiful calamity. The tragic victory.
It’s tectonic plates and midnight brawls.
Laughter and lies —
It’s a walk in Central Park,
lonely hikes down haunted highways.
It’s anxious thoughts and baited breath;
white hoods and chocolate faces —
and blood stains on a wedding dress.
It’s a chuckle through a sneer and bravery through tears.
This is our War. This great epic, unceasing drama.
And here we are — caught in the middle, with God on one side and the Devil the other. They whisper truth and lies and we can’t tell which is which.
The skies rage; the seas scream. And our souls search for beauty.
Lightning crashes in a starless void, while we wait for something true. Somewhere deep within the Mystery.
This is the War we cannot see — that gets ignored by sitcoms and reality TV. This is the scene we all must notice — with open eyes and hearts, willing to break.
We must choose:
To ignore the fight.
Or to stop, pause, reflect.
And dare to dream again.
To imagine a world without the War.
Maybe. Some day. But not now. We sigh and scoff — all in the same breath.
If we’re honest with ourselves, we have to admit. We are more than spectators in this War.
This battle is one we’re fighting not only on the outside.
This is a travesty we’re causing and contributing to. We, the soldiers. We assassins of Beauty.
This brokenness lives inside. It’s what breaks hearts and destroys love. It’s what makes life horrible and beautiful at once.
It’s the apparition of our days and the dreams of our night.
Because out of ashes broken wings fly.
Out of the furnace comes gold —
dripping with dross and shining with glory.
And light begins to dawn in the dark.
Maybe, just maybe, this is not all there is:
this wonderful War of beauty,
this glorious tragedy.
Maybe our vision is clouded by cannon smoke. Maybe our wounds are more than cruel scars. Maybe the War is, in fact, a story.
Maybe there is yet more to see.
To share your own essay on pain and beauty, leave a comment and use the Twitter hashtag #abeautifulwar.
What is your Beautiful War? Share in the comments.
*Photo credit: Alex E. Proimos (Creative Commons)
Your Blogging Frustrations Are Finally Over
In this free masterclass you’ll learn:
- A simple process to overcome obscurity
- How to connect with the right audience
- A proven method for building a thriving tribe
Click here to learn more.