Creative Writing: The Armed Force

On the night of my Vigil, I took an oath of silence, and a ceremonialist led me into an unfamiliar forest. The song of crickets and the sound of my guide’s torch tearing the papery air accompanied that of our footsteps on the trodden path. We arrived at a small clearing, and my guide lit a fire lay with his torch. I was left alone with the fire, charged with three obligations: do

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.

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

Swords crashed against shields like a field of doors slamming shut in the wind. Arrows whistled through the air; a murder of tiny crows swarming above us vulnerable soldiers. The grunts of men impaled by hafts and sliced open by steel join the cacophony of a battle raging into dusk. Wet warmness would splash across me in response to the dying cries of my comrades as one after another of those we battle would push our shields apart and break the line. The ground was wet and sloppy, dried earth had been turned to slush by a rain that did not fall from the sky. The ground was rendered difficult to manoeuvre through, encumbered by the lifeless figures of soldiers now without the allegiance that lead them to a face in the dirt.

Bullets whizzed over their heads, spat out from the german machine gun.James sat crouched with his back pressed against the sludgy wall of the trench.The clouds covered the sky like a dark blanket, not a single sunray to be seen.James forcefully ripped a grenade off the coughing corpse next to him, he pitied the poor soul choking on gas, noticing the crimson puddle his head was surrounded by. He cocked the hammer of his revolver, took aim and abolished his misery He threw explosive holding on to the ring. A few moments passed and silence filled the air.

He saddened every time he thought of his mother and couldn’t bear the consequences of leaving her behind. Luckily, Friederick was always there for him, comforting him along the way.

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

Both local newspapers began to signal, albeit discretely, that war could be approaching its end. Reports spoke in guarded terms about German difficulties and in the ‘Letters to the Editor’ columns, there were encouraging words, leaving readers in no doubt that a resolution was close. Talk in shops and at church services built on the speculation. When news of the imminent German surrender reached soldiers in the front line it was greeted with silence. ‘We did not cheer,’ one soldier recalled. ‘We just stood, stunned and bewildered.’ He continued: ‘On the stroke of 11a.m. the CO raised his hand and told us that the war was over. Then we cheered, with our tin hats on and our rifles held aloft. For old hands like me, it was funny realising that the day we had waited so long for had come at

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.

Añastasia felt the cold metal of the blade press against her throat. The flat side of the knife pushed against her neck firmly, enough to make it difficult to breath. "I don't think you understand the importance of this situation. Maybe I shouldn't have been so nice, but I'm not giving you a choice here, messenger." He spun her around so he was behind her with the blade still pressed against her throat, just under her jaw. He tucked the

By using sight as a sense, fire has risen in the middle of the story. Specifically, the meaning of fire itself, is something being burned, or is going to be burned. In the same way, fire also spreads drastically everywhere. As it states in the book, “He saw a red light before him, as when the felled trunks and branches of a

“Dad, you need to get some sleep; it’s three o’clock in the morning and you have a flight to catch at eleven.” Honestly, he probably hasn’t left that chair all day. He was sitting there when I left this morning at seven. Here he is almost twenty hours later in the same exact spot. You can tell he’s exhausted by the look on his face and his body posture. He has dark bags under his eyes that make it look like he hasn’t slept in days and his back is slouched over his desk. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he passed out right then and there, face first into his keyboard. His dark black hair looks as if it was caught in a blender; his five o’clock shadow and grimy skin gave off the impression that he hadn’t showered in days. He starts to speak

The colors are astonishing. No longer does green dwell the trees. It seems the entire world is on fire. The bright yellow has mingled with the orange to create small flames, flickering from the branches of trees. They fall to the ground and ignite the earth. It has been said before that fire is pure and cleans everything it touches. It takes something broken and dead and gives it one last spurt of beauty. One last goodbye before it leaves forever. The bed of the fire is a deep blue, so searing it burns any who come near. The heat makes my eyes water and stings my uncovered face. I want to get as close as possible. To see the embers be swept with the glorious reds and royal blues. The heat is

It was Heinrich’s 18th birthday, so he went out with his best friend Karl and went hunting in the woods. They are walking in the woods now, looking for animals to use as target practice. Heinrich crouches down behind a bush with Karl, then he looks over at Karl.

Outside the limits of our small town, in the deep dark forest is where we are huddled by the open flames of the fire. The flames engulf us, make us lost in their flowy wisps. The heat brings a welcome sense of peace. Whispers surround us, words of infinity and eternity dance around in our ears. The flames are like drugs to us. Making us see unbelievably beautiful imagery from the smoke. Images that call for us. Begging us to chase them. We all are lost by the serenity of the flames and how indestructible they are.