Army Camp Creative Writing

There was a shot fired. The Native fell back onto the ground as the others watched in horror. It wasn’t long before an all out battle was taking place. The scent of gunpowder filled the air, natives were swinging fists on soldiers and taking weapons back from the wagon. The horses were fleeing the scene, galloping as fast as they could.

Five more minutes passed, then ten. Louie’s arms began to waver and go numb. His body shook. The beam tipped. The guard jabbed Louie with his gun, and Louie straightened up. Less and less blood was reaching his head, and he began to feel confused, his thoughts gauzy, the camp swimming around him. He felt his consciousness slipping, his mind losing adhesion, until all he knew was a single thought: He cannot break me. Across the compound, the Bird had stopped laughing.

As each small town holds its send-off rallies in the local high school gym or forms a welcome parade at the airport to celebrate their returning heroes, these American patriots are inspiring our nation again. They’re reminding us of simple truths unchanged by time: patriotism, faithfulness, loyalty, duty, honor, respect and commitment. They remind us of an even greater truth: America has been the great light of the world because of the goodness of our people. Alexis de Tocqueville summed it up well when he wrote, “America is great because she is good; and when America ceases to be good, she will cease to be

I heard the lights flicker from the flashes and the camera’s shutter from the snapping of the photos as I came out of the locker room. My name was constantly shouted throughout the crowd, and the microphones from the reporters appeared closer and closer to my face.

She then continues to speak on how their deportation affected her and how it made her feel. In this interview Guerrero speaks about the traumatizing experience of coming home from school one day only to find out her parents have been deported and how the only comfort she had was the kindness of strangers who went out of their way to nurture her while other family members were contacted. This video offers a bias point of view based on the fact that her parents were the people deported and due to the emotional connection they had, would want them to stay. This video would only help the side supporting the argument that undocumented people should be allowed to become citizens. However, the video does offer the useful point of view of a child of undocumented immigrants and how the deportation of her parents has affected her. This video would be very useful evidence that to neglect the ability for undocumented immigrants to become citizens leave their children in isolation and fear in their country when their parents are

Enrique decides to make his first effort at crossing the border on his sixteenth birthday. Unfortunately, he is robbed and arrested by Mexican immigration officers, la migra. Enrique’s experience is not unique—many times police officers treat

Thanks again for your help! That's wonderful to hear! I'm actually back in Dunellen working with my father and doing some subbing here and there. I would be interested in providing information and help on the Valley Forge Encampment, however, I do not have many materials or props about the park or the encampment. So, if you don't think it would be in your best interest in coming into the school, I wouldn't mind doing something through Skype or email. Sincerely -Russell Brindley.

They grabbed their bags, filled hastily with food and supplies by Grace as the small campfire intended for warmth had started spreading. They sprinted through a gap in the flames and kept running, trying to ignore the roaring of sirens and hoping to whatever higher spirit there was that they had not left any evidence behind. The last thing they needed now was for law enforcement to catch them.

Near the fort was a lifeless forest filled with blackened trees baked by the forest fires. Behind one of the dead trees was a young man in black clothing and only a red bandana to shield him

My new, too-small boots make a loud thumping sound as I scuff through the enormous dirt landscape that seems to go on indefinitely. I can feel my belt tight around my waist heavy with bullets I pray that I don't have to use. The helmet I am wearing is strapped too tight under my chin, slightly pinching my neck. The open plains here remind me of a farm, once holding animals, now holding soldiers. After standing around awkwardly for a few minutes, watching everyone go about their training someone notices me and begins to come over to the ancient wire fence entangled with undergrowth that I have taken refuge near. The man struggles through the unruly crowd to reach me and immediately I notice that his uniform is different to mine, this man looks as if he is very high up in the ranks, perhaps a general. "'Ey son, how are ya?"

I felt every thorn rip through my flesh as I ran. Each new cut stung more than the last, though I couldn't say I'd rather feel nothing at all. The pain was welcoming, the reason I kept urging myself to run faster.

Sweat trickled down my back and forehead. I felt a single droplet drip off the tip of my nose and splash onto the earthy mulch that had just been spread in the previous week. Stephanie summoned me over to see if my garden claw would be a better match, than the obviously weaker trowel she had been clouting into the ground. Waging war against the stubborn roots thriving in my front yard for ages, would not be an easy chore. We had agreed to help weed, but only in hopes of a cold, creamy reward promised by my lazy father. With a few quick steps, I positioned my body into what my naive 14 year-old logic had apprehended to be the most efficient stance for extracting this stiff shrub. Looking down at the exposed flesh of the half-beaten roots. I prepared myself for my own King Arthur moment, taking short but confident glances up and down my “Excalibur”, which in my fable was sadly only a rusty old gardening fork.

A moment from this novel that lingered in my mind is when Kropp said this, '"I've made up my mind," he says after a while, "if they take off my leg, I'll put an end to it. I won't go through life as a cripple."' This lingered in my mind a lot. Kropp was no older then the age of twenty when this happened. It is sad that a young man like Kropp would even ever have to have thoughts of suicide because their leg was blown off. The war inflicted a lot of damage on the young soldiers lives and seemed to not benefit anyones life. Another thing that lingered in my head is this, "will make a grand feed. About twenty yards from our dug-out there is a small house that was used as an officers' billet. In the kitchen is an immense fireplace with two ranges,

As he pulls it out of his pocket he reads the single word he was waiting for. "Go." Thud. Thud Thud. Muffled gun shots fills his ears from the cabin behind. In one swift motion, he stands up and pulls the automatic rifle out of the duffel bag. He fires a shot into the air to grab the attention of the passengers before he starts giving orders. "Everybody get down on the ground! This is a hostage situation!" He can feel every pulse of blood going through his body. Adrenalin kicks in. Exhilarated by the power he has over the situation, he grips the gun tight and fingers the trigger, his knees stop shaking. Contracting his index finger, the gun fires again. More adrenaline shoots through his body. Everything is going exactly to plan, up until he notices how calm and collected the American men seem to be considering the danger of the situation. The smallest speck of doubt flickers across his face. Before he is able to dismiss it, the Americans nod at each other and whisper something. He pulls up his gun and aims at the Americans but before he has the chance they are on him. The sense of control that, before recently, had been flooding his veins has now been replaced with the sinking feeling of doom and regret. Strong, calloused hands grasp his dominant arm. The type of calluses that is only formed after many years of forced labour. His attempts to resist are determined although futile as the gun is already out of his hands. Fingers

I have to travel to Fort Boise which is 150 miles away. We have just made it to Fort Boise. This reminds me of Fort Hall just a little smaller. The prices are sky high here! This is ridiculous, I’m only going to buy some food for the rest of the trip. There is a animal trading post here something I haven't seen before at any of the other places. My family decided to trade out our oxen they have been very tired. It isn't hard for me to let them off here because I felt like it was hurting them to keep them going. We got a fresh new pair of oxen. They looked ready to go!