A Short Story : A Story Of A Story?

I woke to the crack of rifles, the chattering of Jerry’s machine gun fire mixing with the BOOM of the artillery and realised I was lying in the slimy stinking mud that covered many of my division’s fallen soldiers on the western front. A few meters to my right I saw my best mate Jack slogging towards me “G’day mate” he said “G’day” I replied. “You know how we are going over the top to assault Jerrys positions today?” he said nervously “I feel like this will be my last time I will fight in this war.” “Why is that?” I queried, “Well” he answered “I believe that one of those bullets has my name on it this time. You know like old Charlie had that feeling before that artillery shell tore him in half?”

The whites called for British Troops to evacuate me. In the night I slipped across the river to never return to Illinois. I would not give up, I banded together 1500 followers. In April of 1832 we waged war to take back our home. We followed the river rock course for 50 miles. The war lasted 15 weeks. Two Thirds of my followers were dead.. The war was named the Black Hawk War. I had escaped but then captured six weeks later. I met with President Andrew Jackson and he sent me to Fortress Monroe, Virginia. Little did I know I would be used for entertainment soon. I was taken to tour large cities and crowds of people came to see “Chief Black Hawk and his Warriors.” In the Sauk there were no chiefs only leaders, but there was the american public’s lack of understanding. I returned to Rock Island in 1833. My arch enemy was there, Keokuck. I was released under his custody. By then I was tired, broken and very old. The war was a disaster, and I brought shame to myself. The Americans saw me as famous and admirable but my people saw me a cowardice and disgraced. The next five years I lived along the Iowa River with my wife and children. Today is October 2,

We all sleep and rest and eat in the trenches, but it’s not paradise. One night, the sound of loud booms woke us up. We were being attacked by some very dangerous artillery. We could feel every boom and every crack in the dirt above us. Many soldiers were not prepared for this and got sick. The attack come out of nowhere and frightened all of us.

I still remember the dreadful day of pain, seared into my memory for all of eternity. The salty smell of blood filled the dark and smoky air. Gunshots rang through the air, echoing through the trees; yet the white flag flew high above us. Bullets rained from the sky knocking leaves and needles from the tree limbs and cut perfect circles through our tepees. An infant cried out hidden in the blood of his dead mother. Then, in the shower of deadly metal, a silver raindrop passed through the infant’s head and for one fateful second, everything became silent. Yet the rain of death persisted causing even more fatalities. I remember running as fast as my legs could carry me, trying to keep up with the rest of our people while doing my best to hide from the rain of death falling from the heavens.

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.

One day as Isaac and I were wondering along the streets that headed to the bay, we saw an Italian militia heading straight towards us. The picture I saw then could have been in my worst nightmare. Isaac, being his mere eight year old self, hid behind me in fear.my first instinct was to run back to my house and hide, but before I could turn my shoulder, the soldiers confronted me. They asked me where my parents were and why I was out alone. At first I wanted to lie and say that I was just stopping by a friend’s house to puck something up, but I decided not to take that risk. Instead, I told them the bare truth about my parents and that we were just wandering around to get some exercise. The soldier at the front (probably the General) responded with an offer. His offer was for us to work for the militia and we’d receive a decent meal and a place to stay. I consulted with Isaac and we both agreed that accepting the offer would be the best option for both of us.

My father forced me to scavenge in neighboring villages for food to feed the steadily growing numbers of soldiers. While we fight, Japan continues to send over more and more soldiers. As Japanese troops increase, our supplies are dwindling. Today, I went with a group of boys all my age in search of supplies. We stumbled upon a small village of rice farmers. I didn’t hear nor see anyone milling about, so it was decided that we would pillage it for supplies. Little did I know that my life would change in the next few moments. We started sneaking through the rice field, the water making our combat boots turn to a wet mess. A fellow comrade tapped my shoulder and pointed. A crowd of villagers had spotted us and were armed. My eyes went wide as the other members of my group took up their weapons. A shot rang from my right and a villager fell to the ground. Soft thuds were heard from both sides as the villagers took the defense line. I fell to my knees and forced myself to crawl back. I fled as fast as possible from the battle. Just when I thought I had the all clear, I was plucked up from the collar of my militia uniform. I squealed in surprise as I met the black eyes of a villager. His eyes showed a hatred for me. I cowered in fear as he landed a punch into my gut. Red hot pain flashed in my abdomen and my vision blurred. I kicked out and landed a hit in his groin. He fell to his knees after dropping me into the mud. My entire uniform was soaked for I had

I had just arrived to my destination: Gallipoli, Turkey. As nervous as I was already with shivers down my spine nearly every minute I didn’t want to lose my young life tomorrow. It was a long ride but my troops and I were prepared for what could come our way. We jumped off the half sunken ship due to the enormous amount of soldiers. It was going to be a long and hard battle. The water we had to walk through to set up our camps was muddy and clumpy I was hoping I don’t get trench foot. Me, as the leader leaded on where we have to set up our camps. We set up our tents around the gruesome field of dead, yellow, sun dried grass next to the sandy rough hills. Rain had just started sprinkling and the next

I woke up to the smell of rotting flesh and decaying corpse. I pushed myself up from the green moss. I turned to look back at the scene I was once in. There were two lankard soldiers they looked like they were in their older thirties. Both had gunshots to their chest and slashes at their necks a traditional death mark of the rebels. I laughed to myself as I thought of the pathetic ambush they tried to pull on me. It was about 1:00 am when I went to hunt some deer for preparation of my promotion to 2nd in command. Before I could even get into the forest of Glade two of the soldiers came up to me and tried to fight me. I took them both out within a minute with my small pistol and knife. "Damn" I thought I still need to find a deer. I picked up

I held my breath as the Ukian soldiers marched through my small village. I heard the sound of their hard boots stomp below my hiding spot in the branches of the old oak tree. I shut my eyes tight as the men walked right beneath me. The war has been going on for three months now and we have already lost so many. Fathers, uncle, and even sons have been sent off to war to fight the Ukian and have never returned. My heart beat faster and faster until I thought the soldiers below could hear me. For we all knew, if they heard us, even the slightest movement, they would either capture the whole village, if the had mercy, or most likely kill us all. Right now, to the Ukian soldiers this is just an abandoned village with no life, but if they would have gotten here an hour ago, they would have thought otherwise. I watched the marching enemy soldiers walked off until they were nothing, but a speck on the horizon. I sighed a sigh of relief and grabbing my small wooden flute from beside me and blew a high, loud trill. People started to come out their houses as soon as they heard the clear signal. I scamped down the tree and ran up to the baker’s house. His wife, Margaret Tubsman,

I never thought I would be stuck twelve feet deep in the cold and wet pits along the Western Front, but there I was. If the bullets didn’t eat away at you, the disease and grey weather would. I looked around as my lifeless comrades staggering in the mud. After five months there I somehow only recognised a few people. It seemed like I knew fewer each day. Every sense had become effusively betrothed to the ugliness of war as the abominable stench of blood grew stronger each day.

Phoenix kept his head down as containers and papers were flung off the storage table he was seeking solace under. He completely missed the fact that his amulet had slid out of his back pocket and was now laying on the floor. His eyes widened when he seen it laying there discarded, every time the other boy took a step he flinched, afraid that the heavy footed jerk would step on it and shatter it. Slowly he reached his arm out as far as he could, trying to hook one of his fingers around the small silver chain.

Sebastian Unwin climbed into the airship, still wearing his armor and a large sack was thrown over his shoulder. He didn't need a chest like the other knights had for transporting their armor safely, not having many things by choice, so he decided to wear it on the trip back home, it would be easier and feel less heavy if he wore it rather than carried it in the sack like the rest of his clothes. Sebastian hadn't brought many things with him when he left to train at the academy, he didn't have much to take. His sack had a few pairs of old clothes, which did not fit well due to his more muscular frame. Thanks to his training, Sebastian was no longer the lanky teenager he was when he left. There was also a pair of old shoes and a plain wooden box that contained all the letters from his best friend, and now his ward, princess Aewyn Darkwin-Revalon. He had missed her dearly during his time away and had written to her often to try and ease the guilt he felt for leaving. The two of them had grown up together in the castle, being fairly close in age, and his parents being trusted and higher ranking help in the castle. His father was one of the King's personal knights and his mother one of the Queen's lady in waiting, so Sebastian grew up not wanting for much.

The sounds of feet puttering against the concrete and heavy breathing echoed on a cold, starry night. As he ran, his dark-brown gaze shifted up to see a sign that read in bold “GAMECOCK VILLAGE,” it’s iron neither rusted from the rain nor bleached in the sun. Running into the area, he made his way to a tree and stopped, taking time to breathe again. While listening out for the people who claimed to be his “family,” he took in his surroundings. Each apartment was three stories high, bricks built the lower half and the rest by what seemed to be wood. For each story, three windows accompanied it, and each complex was not as close together as the apartment the people held him in was. Recognizing where he was at, he bolted and looked for a room “with a light on all the time.”

When I was a youngin, I had two best friends; both were girls and both were very dramatic. We had been friends since we were babes because our mamas’ were best friends and we were always together. I didn’t really think much bout’ how I was a guy and they weren’t, though I probably should’ve. That’s where our story begins.