Essay On The Day Of Life

The storm clouds were dark, gloomy and grim like a graveyard. They were near the surface of the earth. It was going to rain. They were lingering on. The soldiers’ uniforms were repeatedly buffeted by the howling gale. The sky was as black as a devil’s soul. A large boom echoed across the crimson battlefield as the lighting returned the thunder’s call. Endless calls for help could be heard. Then, the rain started pouring down, filling up the battle field, like a flood, as the constant sound of the rain pounding on the metal could be heard. Heavy boots pressed down on the wet mud, which would not be dry for the next week, due to the trenches. The trenches were six-foot-deep and reeked of dead bodies and human excrement.

Even after days, months, and years our six survivors struggle to get back to the life they once had before the terrible disaster. Through all the forty years after the explosion, they had to deal and cope with the terrible flashbacks of the bloodied bodies and corpses. They will had to deal with the empty space that was left in their hearts made by deaths and of many close family members; and although many family members didn't die immediately, many died in the months and years following. Also, the bombs did not spare much or any money, shelter, and provisions; meaning our survivors had to endure poverty and homelessness. The novel comes to a

Day of the Dead is a Mexican holiday celebrated throughout Mexico, in particular the Central and South regions, and acknowledged around the world in other cultures. The holiday focuses on gatherings of family and friends to pray for and remember friends and family members who have died, and help support their spiritual journey. In 2008 the tradition was inscribed in the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity by UNESCO.

One day I pondered threw the charity book shelves, idly searching for something that I wanted, though what that was one did not know. In a way that is the way shopping in charity shops tends to be, one never enters with a particular urgent need, one may be somewhat lackadaisical or off course I do often do be throwing my change into a wishing well- donating a few euro and hoping for what one hope to credit as a great find. My find was the 2009 Bestseller, One Day, by David Nicholls. The book covered with quotes such as ‘’ A Wonderful, Wonderful Book’’ The Times, was left lonely and isolated for a months and I’m sure it cried with the grief of me never opening a single page. But One Day I Did.

How did I get here? His lips moved but everything else was quiet. Too quiet, too still. He was sitting with his legs swung over the bed, elbows on his knees. Sunlight bled through the window, casting shadows across the wooden floor. It made him angry. It's not fair. Rage rose slowly like a body might through water, filling up his chest until he felt whole, but it only lasted a second. That wholeness slipped like blood through his fingers and suddenly he was just a broken man mad at the sun for shining. The assassin looked down, reaching to brush his fingers upon the blood stain at his feet. He found it funny, that not one of the servants had been able to wash away the stain when there hadn't been a trace

I was sitting in the back of the taxi in Ukraine. The car moved and I began to see the one I love fade into the gray night fog. I will never forget the feeling I had during that moment. Like something was being ripped from my heart - a moment of great despair as I leave both my family and my country.

During this time, as wounded and deceased soldiers arrived at the hospital in England, Joe was forever affected by what he saw, smelled, and heard. The deceased were charred lumps. The smell of burned flesh filled the nostrils of the medical staff. The painful wailing of the injured, suffering from horrific burns, was heart wrenching. Joe had never seen such devastation and destruction before.

An elderly man was indefatigable trying desperately to return his dead wife’s severed legs back to her torso while she clung to him helplessly, her arms draped around his neck. Most of the victims had some portion of their flesh burnt away, giving off a foul stench into the night’s air that would have normally made me revoltingly gage if my other senses weren’t so overwhelmed. Skin was split as if hacked open by a butcher’s cleaver. Bones were broken—shattered to a point that would’ve suggested that they were made to be as brittle as egg shells. Large splinters of timber embedded and piercing through their torsos, liberating end-trails and viscera that hung loosely from the large, open

My stomach dropped as the alarm sounded. I could see the same foreboding faces of my fellow EMTs as we darted to the ambulance. Was it a bomb? An active shooter? A riot? A muffled electronic voice came on over the radio. Though the cutting signal and ringing siren I could only make out one word: airstrike. A chill swept over the crew as we lurched to a stop. We bounded over the rubble, trying to find the entrance through the thick opaque air. I took the left side, attempting to listen for signs of life, but Death seemed to be the only inhabitant. “Mommy? Is that you?”, whimpered a faint voice. I stopped. There was a small boy quivering in the dark, covered in soot and blood that I prayed wasn’t his own. I thrusted him onto my shoulder but did not answer – I knew his mother was most likely dead. I cared him to safety and sat him down in the orange ambulance chair. His petrified eyes stared into the dust cloud as

The aftermath of battles lost. The ground was covered in mud and shattered glass, pieces of broken concrete, twisted steel and the men, many dead, their bodies half buried, others crawling or being pulled out of the mud, from under the he debris, or like him stumbling from behind cranes and forklifts, dazed and disorientated, making their way, not away, but back towards the bridge, towards the wreck. The slab, cracked and broken, everything in its way ground to ash and powder finally stopped falling. Like a beached battle ship, all power and momentum lost, it was now sinking into the river. But there were several fires, their angry red flames blocking the path to the slab to the men buried underneath it and other men as dazed as him staring at the

What is the meaning of life? Well known Greek philosphers such as Socrates and Plato believed that our purpose in this life was to gain knowledge in preparation for the next life. Other Philosophers such as Epicurus believed that pleasure is the main goal in life. After giving these ideas lots of thought, I have come to my own conclusion that the true meaning of life is far more complex than either of these; far too complex for any human to fully comprehend. In fact these two different philosophies are only part of the grand picture. If it were that easy for men to figure out our lives wouldn't be so messed up now. The meaning of life revolves around many different things. I

My few years on this planet have been a bit confusing. I have learned of many aspects of life from which one can draw meaning, if indeed such meaning can be drawn. I have also learned that there can be no singular meaning of life to stand for us all, or even any one of us. What I have learned above all is that trying to put words to the meaning of life is a task of absolute absurdity. This is not to be confused with the idea that life has no meaning, for life certainly has meaning. However, there is no single meaning of life to be defined - life is different for us all. Therefore, rather than define life for an entire planet, I shall try to explain what life means as I perceive it, and why it means so.

The abstract idea of life cannot be explained by such simple ideas as being animated, breathing, or speaking. Ordinary machines in this century can perform all of these basic functions. The quandary with defining death is not as abstract and elusive as that of life. The problem of defining life and death has plagued philosophers and the religious bodies for thousands of years for one reason; each philosophy or religion has tried to define the meaning of life and death from only their certain perspective. The seemingly appropriate approach to this problem would be to understand the ideas presented in various philosophies and religions and through this knowledge create a new definition for each idea of life

It was a hot day in Borrego Springs. My Dad, my best friend Sean Maloney and I were going on a long ride around Borrego Springs. We got geared up and I was excited to ride my new bike it was a blue and white Yamaha TTR250. My dad came home one day with a new bike a couple of days before the trip, then we went on a ride.

Life as we know it could vanish within seconds. The next day is not promised to anyone that walks on this earth. As we live our everyday lives peacefully, we tend not to think what our mission or purpose in life is. Instead, we think what we must do for that to be a “successful” person. Despite this way of thinking, just think for a second. What makes life meaningful? What is life anyway? These questions dive right into the heart of the philosophical, psychological, and the biological aspects of life and what the true meaning of life is. This is a very arguable topic due to every person’s different perspective on life and what it means to them. In summary, I personally think that life is simply what you make of it and each person’s accomplishments has its own merit