Creative Writing: The Wargals

The driver, Cecilia Blair, of vehicle 1 was traveling north through the intersection of N. State St. and Flint St. when she had a collision with vehicle 2. The driver, Jacqueline Muir, of vehicle 2 was heading west on Flint St. when she was struck by vehicle 1. Witness state

Hi Mom! Hope you're doing well. I'm sorry that I haven't been writing to you in a while, things have just been pretty hectic here. None of us have been getting any sleep around here because we are all stuck in these trenches and

The sun was nowhere to be found the dark clouds combined with ash and smoke blotted out any form of light, destruction was everywhere. Wheat fields were ravaged by fires, and towns were reduced to rubble. The ground that was once dark brown soil was now churned into large masses of mud filled with the stench of death. In the mud trenches and foxholes were dug in which many men inhabited, not by choice but out of pure necessity.

Up down, up down, tired of running and push-ups Just want to go to sleep. Thinking of school and all the times he stayed up late. Going to bed tired just like he is now. In the army now, not a student any longer. Healthy but weak compared to the stronger. From push-ups to boot

(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.

The barricade was bathed in red. At some point, their ears had finally given in to the echoing shots and yells and had dulled to the point where they could barely hear anything at all. The students - cut, bruised and bloodied - lay upon the ground. Dead or hiding. Hoping for mercy, for that’s all they had left to hope for.

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

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

After abandoning the camp we stumbled across the country side and found a house. As we sit by the wall, we think about our fellow soldiers now in heaven. I look up to the sky to see shepherds delight or more like the resemblance of the blood of the abandoned. Why everyone was quiet, I don’t know. There probably just tired from the great determination. Many of us seeking an end but will be disappointed and become depressed. Trepidation of death has occurred in several of us.

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

1. You used to think the philosophy 'you only live one' is the most ridiculous excuse for justifying everything you've ever heard of - if you're meant to be reckless and live as fast as you can, 'there's a million and one ways to die' sounds much nicer. Explore them. Investigate them. Enjoy them. Cherish everyone of them, especially that split second between when you lean back in your chair and it hangs midway in air so close the the ground that the only thing you can think of is 'that is it.'

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.

“You’ve heard of Brasso? If you look like a soldier, you’ll be a soldier.” Then he cursed as though he learned it from a manual for sergeants, and his curses merged with the metal slapping air sound of a prop turbine. Dad heard the Bunge’s voice sputter. It sounded as if

I close the door of the elevator behind my husband. Our eyes join, like they have so many times before, and we are motionless; pausing our lives, only for a second. I hadn’t expected him to go out for recruitment. Although I suppose I should have; he’s far too proud to let others fight for him. That is where we differ. I desire safety, and he would go to any length to prove to me that he will always keep me safe, even at the expense of his own safety. Almost like we’re the perfect match of opposites. In this moment of stillness, he looks so much smaller than I remember. Too small to go to war. I long to make him stay somehow. If only our eyes could speak when our mouths are speechless and taken by premature grief. I go to open the door again,

Whispers stretched across a land afar. The rumours spoke of a powerfully built, broad shouldered, tall, Muslim man who loved the battlefield more than his own home. A man who never slept once the battle had started a man who slaughtered indiscriminately of age or race, he was said to have only fought only for the sake of protecting his faith and his loved ones.