Creative Writing: My First Vietnam War

It is full summer and upon the horizon, I see soldiers coming, they are forever coming, it seems. Though they will soon leave us alone. For some insane reason, crazy people, scare them away. This place, has become my haven. You would think, after a hundred and forty years, I would have grown tired of this place and moved on; but when my Henry, was killed at Vicksburg, I completely lost my mind.

For the seventeen Soldiers portrayed in “The Things We Carried” by Tim O’Brien, the physical pain was very minimal weight to carry compared to the emotional scars that they will carry throughout their entire life. This story does an amazing job portraying full human emotion that anyone put into a situation would feel, such as heavy guilt, sadness, anger, lack of motivation, perseverance, horror, and false security. All of these are notorious feelings that every soldier back in history, and now still feel when they are on a mission. “The Things They carried” shows a deep vulnerability of everyday human’s thought process during times of great stress, that before, wasn’t considered by the general public and media when speaking about what it

. . . Like I was losing myself, everything spilling out” (O’Brien 202). Provided with only laconic, expository definitions, an audience cannot truly feel the pains of war. O’Brien utilizes descriptions which evoke all the senses and submerge the audience in the unique and powerful sensations of war. Witnessing war’s pains through the familiar tactile crunch of an ornament or the splash of liquid spilling, the audience can immediately understand the inconceivable pressure placed on the soldier’s injured body. O’Brien continues, “All I could do was scream. . . . I tightened up and squeezed. . . . then I slipped under for a while” (203). His abrupt syntax and terse diction conveys a quickness to these events. Not bothering with extraneous adornment, his raw images transport the audience to the urgency of the moment and the severity of the pain. Now supplied with an eyewitness’s perspective of war’s injuries, the audience can begin to recognize the significance of the suffering. O’Brien tells his audience, “Tinny sounds get heightened and distorted. . . . There was rifle fire somewhere off to my right, and people yelling, except none of it seemed real anymore. I smelled myself dying” (203). In the same frame, O’Brien paints the rumbling chaos of the big war juxtaposed with the slow death of the small individual. His description emphasizes the purposeless discord and confusion of war and seeks to condemn its disorder. He argues that war’s lack of

War can be considered a tragedy, but war can also signify bravery. So many men and women die fighting for their country daily. What really happens behind enemy lines? In “The Things They Carried,” a short story by Tim O’Brien, he uses various rhetorical devices to explain to his readers to help them truly understand what it is like to be in war.

“The Things They Carried” by Tim O’Brien is a non fiction body of fiction writing. While names, characters and situations are imaginary, the circumstances encountered by the people represented in the war depicted are very much real.There is an intriguing story line beneath yet another story that is being told and with each sentence the more it resonates. There is the story of unrequited love, unabashed bravery, and unfathomable pain. Throughout all of this turmoil and what is the very essence of discomfort, the story moves forward and the reader is compelled to follow. In relating the layers of stories wrapped into the writing O’Brien masterfully uses the techniques of repetition, pattern and indirect style of writing to emphasize that no amount of physical weight compares to the mental and

As the plane lands in Atlanta, Georgia two hundred others and I are escorted by Drill Sergeants to the buses. Several hours go by and finally I arrive at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. I glance at my watch, it’s three o’clock in the morning. The Drill Sergeants are screaming “MOVE PRIVATES! WE DON’T HAVE ALL DAY!” I run as fast as I can to formation just to stand at the position of attention for three hours. The morning sun is beating me in the face and the Drill Sergeants are still yelling.

O’Brien discusses the physical items the soldiers carry with them to characterize each soldier and demonstrate how these items are used as an escape mechanism for them. For example, Rat Kiley carries comic books, Kiowa carries his Bible, Ted Lavender carries dope, and Lieutenant Cross carries love letters and pictures from his love back home, Martha. These items that distract the soldiers from war play a major role in the soldier’s sanity. Their personal distractions give them something else to focus on rather than the thought of misery and despair in their times at war, especially in Lieutenant

​For many years war has been a huge part of history. Thousands of people go to war for their country and come back physically fine. But what people usually do not notice is the emotional distress and burden that the veterans come back with on their back. That is what drives the purpose of the book in “The things they carried”. Tim O’Brien wrote this book in way that shows how war can be part of the soldier for the rest of their life. Coming home veterans have to deal with individual sufferings, but the emotional baggage the soldiers bring also effect the people around them. The characters in the book the “The things they carried” portray this very well.

“War is Hell!” These three words have stood the test of time and numerous wars. These words uttered by General William Sherman, a unionist Civil War Veteran, perfectly describe the hardships faced by all soldiers, from the American Revolutionist to the modern day soldier in Afghanistan. Tim O’Brien served in the Vietnam Conflict from 1968 to 1970, (O’Brien 1131) during some of the most intense fighting known as the Tet Offensive (Durkin). During the conflict 58,202 Americans were killed in action (Durkin) and hundreds of thousands, more were left with not only the physical scars of war but the emotional ones too. In the short story “The Things They Carried,” Tim O’Brien uses symbolism and conflict to show that soldiers often carry more weight than what is on their backs.

I remember the smell, the sounds, the taste of blood. I remember seeing my comrades fall beside me, the sting of the cuts. The numbness as I fell alongside them, the sadness, the tears. The price of war, I believe my father said that to me before he died. I remember being lifted and carried, I remember a laugh. Then I felt my mind slowly becoming numb, and soon my mind was consumed by the darkness. Like a wildfire it spread from the farthest of places, destroying everything in its’ path. It was over, the war was lost, hope gone; at least until today….

She lays helplessly, hopelessly tranced. What will remain of her in the coming hours is unknown, but one thing is for certain, I will remain by her side until she is an empty house, cold and unseeing. Though sorrow may fill my bones, all that I let show through is a sense of tranquil energy in lieu of the recent events. She mumbles and murmurs longing for the life long past. Embarrassment occupies her brain as she contemplates why and how her life has come to this. She reeks of stupidity and frailness when her life was nothing close to that. She fears that what we leave behind is more important that what we were. Is it though? Regardless of what she was or what she has become, I am here and I will always be here.

He charges out to the front lines, along with other soldiers. The gun trembles in his hand and he wills himself not to drop it. Above him, aircrafts beat their heavy wings, whirring as they drop bombs down below. Jimin bites back his tears and his fears, and surrenders himself to the mistakes of his country.

As it approach the time to leave grandmas seemed like everything got blurry, the rug seemed like it was moving and the air seemed like it was getting cold out of nowhere. Grandma always grabbed me tight as she seen mother taking footsteps to the door and saying her goodbyes. She know I never wanted to

Despite my dread, I am inextricably drawn toward her, like a child demanding stories of witches and werewolves and then crying out in the nightmares that follow. I must know the worst, I believe, to accept, to understand, to recapture love. And so I tread reluctantly but persistently up the stairs to her room-running clothes on, load of laundry on my hip, book in hand, lego between my toes. I peer into her bedroom-a cave, purposefully dark and drawn away from the world, damp with mildewed history, silent and completely removed from any reminder of an outside world. Blinds are dusty and drawn, walls barren, and bureau littered with a meaningless jumble of nothings. A bulge in hospital-green has collapsed on the bed, and I strain to hear and count Grandma's breaths, to make sure there really is existence in her still form. Six seconds, and a breath. Six . . . breath . . . another six . . . and another. Marking time, but not life.

I rush out before them with them tailing me. We run towards the exit stairs. Moments later, we reached outside into the cold winter and the clatter of gunfire fills the air “ratatata-ratatata.” Military Jets scream by with sound breaking speed. Helicopter blades beats the air like drums. Military officers shouting orders and tanks rolling past with clanking metal tracks. We rushed out into the direction where the military officials pointed. Soldiers leading the way and soldiers follow. Escorting us to safety, we reached an area of quietness with only machine-gun fire in the distance and explosions are from afar. “QUIET DOWN!” ordered a soldier. Every whispering voice lowered into silent footsteps. My military training kicks in with flashbacks from my past: “GET DOWN!” said an army mate as a rocket propelled grenade whooshes past and hitting the wall behind us. Returning fire with our military issued M4A1 carbine rifle. With only 5 of us left and outnumbered with 20 insurgents engaging us with AK-47 assault rifles. We radio in for support and I hear a thud as my face gets smeared with blood. I check to see who’s it is…” The leader in the front held up his arm in a ninety degree angle with a fist clenched. Everyone stopped. There is nothing but quietness. The leader signals for two soldiers to check ahead in a building. The two soldiers move in closer to the building. “BOOM! BOOM!” Rockets hit where the two soldiers are. “GUAN XI!”