Creative Writing: All Quiet On The Western Front

Right now I’m in these trenches writing a heart-filled letter for y’all. But these unbearable conditions have been unsettling to me. Everytime I want to get away from the gruesome war, I think about you. The shots of the machine guns, getting exposed to mustard gas, and having to see my fellow soldiers having to deal with trench foot, all makes me feel hopeless of me staying alive. All day and night, we had to be on the lookout. Planes from the sky makes us vulnerable for air attacks. All aside from all of those problems, the one main goal is to one day find my horse Joey. Maybe both of us will somehow meet me once again during or after the war. I’m very sorry to you guys if I don’t make it home alive, but I’m going to make a big promise, never in a day or night, will I forget about you guys.

(G) This war is starting to really affect my men. (C) I understand George but, I cannot give you my men. (G) Yes General I know you can’t and I will not force you. I just ask that you think about it not for me, but for the people. (C) As you wish George, I will think about it but do not get your hopes up. (G) Thank you General and I will not. (C) Your welcome George. How is your wife doing? I haven’t spoken with her in a while. (G) Thank you for asking she is doing just fine I will let her know you asked. (C) So George, what is your next attack plan? (G) I am not fully sure there General, it is as if the British can read my mind. They are always alert on the attacks. I was planning a surprise attack but I am not so sure if I should go on with it now.

Hello, this is Kelsey Maley reporting from a battlefield in France during spring of 1914. As you can most likely hear, the battle is booming behind us. The gunshots and cannon fires can be heard from miles away. From where I am standing one can also hear the cries and screams, and running horse hooves from the war below. Looking down we can see the khaki and grey uniforms either riding horses or hiding in trenches and with guns or swords. It is hard to concentrate on these men in uniforms because of the dirt and smoke covering the air around them. Walking up here is difficult because of the bumps in the ground. One may be able to feel the rumbling and shaking ground every time a cannon is fired. Each side is obeying the screams from their comandor

By March 1915 the influx of refugees from Belgium was almost at an end and Epworth played host to a social reunion consisting of games, dancing, and songs to bring together all those who had been housed in the Isle. Part of the entertainment featured songs from Mrs. W. Hirst and Mrs. R. Stephenson and a pianoforte solo by Mrs. Breeze. The month saw farmers becoming increasingly rueful; the fine weather created ideal growing conditions but a shortage of men and horse hampered progress. Indeed, there was concern that horses in the Isle were being ‘worked to death in order to make up for the lack of numbers.’ Members of the Belton VTC celebrated the opening of their new rifle range where Mr. G. H. Newborn exhorted them to use it well to learn

You have successfully entered enemy territory. You and the other recon soldiers have crossed the distance of open plain, skirted the barbed wire, and are close to the enemy trenches. You all lie on your stomachs in the mud, rifles in hand. So far, the going is good. You don’t seem to have been spotted, and no shouts of alarm split the air.

“Sure they do. But with this war, and the introduction of the bomb, the stakes were fought on an even grander scale. The Germans could have annihilated the English at Dunkirk if the skies were clear for the Luftwaffe. Think of how much more difficult it would have been had not the German Army froze to death by the Russian cold. Think of how the ebb-and-flow attacks from the Battle of the Bulge were influenced if the skies cleared. The advantage in that battle was all about the weather. The rough waters from the Normandy invasion forced the Allies into a one day delay but over ninety-percent of the tanks were never able to set forth in battle mostly because of the raging sea. And the possibility at Midway if Japan’s Carrier Hiryu wasn’t hidden inside a storm we could have had an extra carrier. While the American

I write to you today from a hospital bed in France. I know that may sound bad, but truly I am one of the lucky ones. I have lost so many friends in this past battle. I am sure you have probably heard news of this back home in England already. The first day of the battle on the Somme was a dark day indeed. I have heard it word here that it could have been one of the bloodiest battles to date. I do not even know how to begin describing the war, but I have to describe it to someone. I would never want to tell my parents of these horrors I am facing; it would be far too much for them to bear. You are my closest friend back home, and I know if it were not for your health issues, you would be here fighting too, so I feel I can tell you about all this. I know I volunteered for this, but I never in a million years could have predicted what war would truly be like. Looking back on it though, we are truly lucky that Britain is a country that relies on volunteer

Jimin wakes up to the sound of explosions and fire. A thousand and some men meet their demise each day, and Jimin prays at night he’s not one of them. The war rages around him, and he gets off the make-shift bed to get changed into his gear to help out. He caps the patterned helmet and looks at himself in the mirror. His reflection stares back, sad and weary, a youth gone wrong. He smears camouflage onto his face, high on his cheekbones until there is nothing left of him but an empty vessel of war.

It is three years into the war, WWII, and Oscar is turning seven tomorrow. Although the sun is creeping under the horizon, Oscar is still as energetic as a rabbit!Because his parents were getting rations along with Oscars sister Elle, Oscar is staying home alone.

It shone there crackling for a moment as evidence of the last gesture he ever made” (Fitzgerald). These quotes show that the nurse had a hard time taking care of the cartoonist as he had difficulty overcoming his alcohol

The great unknown, in the savage west Life is oldest in the Westward states, older than the Redwoods Royal ridged mountains with crispy fresh springs New kindled fires growing day by day But new youngins are growing like a fury breeze Wild horses, straying across the blue enriched waters The well-balanced Mountain goats hanging on by a thread And other untouched creatures running and striving for survival The dusty, and scorching heat sneaking across the baking desert

It was early morning and the Student began showing signs of life, other than breathing, he opened his eyes, he looked around, then sat up, he was in minor pain but, nothing he wasn’t used to. The crackling fire, the only sound he heard as he got off of the stone tablet, he wobbled alittle on his feet, but he eventually found his balance, finally on his feet he examined himself, the bandages on his body wrapped around him, and were heavy on his shoulder, he remembered, the hammer spike from the bandit warlord, he placed his hand over it, and pulled off the bandages, the long strands fell to the ground, he looked at the scar on his shoulder, it was a circle with several crooked trails that branched off., he reached over and felt the same on

Cen’s ears flicked, while she wasn’t sure that the Archmage had heard his growl, she did. It was something she knew very well, though hoped that he behaved. Her words stayed sweet and polite, sounding a little different from when she normally spoke hoping Kari might recognize the act “ Yes, even with enchantments it’s still dangerous, for not only us but for you as well, technically. I believe we’re both enemies of your new leader, yes?” Her words were to the point but still said in a jovial manor

but now he 's just stuck on repeat, all synthetic smiles and plastic euphoria as he pretends the ink from his pen is spilling onto the page as minutes, hours, /days/ tick on, a black-and-white movie playing again and again and again on a record player that 's just a little bit more than broken. he 's angry as he drinks and nothing comes out of it still, hot as he puts pen to paper and nothing comes out of it still, and after what feels like hours but is only probably minutes, he puts everything down defeatedly and stares out of the window.

It's Wednesday, just six weeks before TCAPS. Mr. Joe enters his classroom on the third floor of Maryville Junior High school. It's a room like any other ordinary 1950's cider block room. The walls are yellowed, and there are rows of old beat up desks. The fluorescent lighting flickers as he turns on the lights. Mr. Joe is an old crippled man who is on his last leg and ready to retire. He doesn't put up with any crap. Mr. Joe hates it when the kids hit each other with the text books. Kids such as Brody Sloan, Matt Brooks, and Clay Brewster have a goal to make him mad. Then there is a kid like Terk Johnson who yells at the other kids to stop because they are distracting his learning ability. Mr. Joe just knows that he will never be able to have