Michael Holtzapfel's Death Of A Soldier

One reason survivors of life and death situations should feel survivor's guilt is because it shows that the victim cares. The editorial text “The Moral Logic of Survivor Guilt”, by Nancy Sherman, explains how normal survivor guilt is and the good things it can do for a person. In this story it says “The anguish of guilt, its sheer pain, is a way of sharing some of the ill fate”. This shows that even though guilt can feel horrible, feeling the guilt means that the person cares enough about the situation to feel survivor's guilt. This proves survivors of life and death situations should feel survivor's guilt because having a guilty feeling shows that they cared. Often times, caring can help a person through their situation because being able to care about what happened shows that the person didn’t do it on purpose, and that they are still good people.

Unfortunately, he came ill-prepared as the burglar shot three times in chest and twice in the arm. He collapsed on the floor, he watched was burglar took the last of his money, shot him in the chest and stormed off. Despite this, he could not blame the person, these times are difficult and you have to make money somehow. He laid down his head and closed his eyes, remembering the scene earlier outside the shop. It was a beautiful scene indeed. Then a new thought popped in his head. This situation was would not have happened if he had not face the burglar alone and called for back up. He could have asked but he was afraid to ask, and now he pays the price. He looked down and felt his own pool of blood on the floor. It felt sticky and soupy. He could not help but smile a little

This is the movie, after all, that's narrated by Death, a device that you can imagine possibly working in a Hollywood film of the '30s or '40s, but hardly since. What's the Grim Reaper doing here, besides nudging along the exposition and dropping ironic bon mots? Obviously, he serves a purpose much akin to that of the movie's impeccably costumed but barely differentiated Nazis: to attempt giving some thematic ballast to a tale so wispy and ungrounded that otherwise it might float away.The fiction is Liesel, one of those spunky young heroines that keep the Young Adult industry afloat. When Death first introduces her, in 1938, she is on the run with a fugitive mother and a little brother who dies in the first scene. Soon after, Mom vanishes over the horizon and Liesel is taken in by a good-hearted provincial couple, kindly Hans and crusty-but-lovable Rosa .

Instead of making him feel better, it made him feel worse. He thought: Who have I become? People died. Families are in mourning. I'm more concerned about covering my own ass than finding justice. Leela is dead; I’ve known her family for over fifty years. Poor Meena, she's like a daughter to me. I love Quinn, but she killed people. I'm no better than Hyacinth if I cover that up.

Today, the German soldiers managed to reinforce the military and to foil our offensive. Everything had gone wrong! Their far greater mobility and firepower allowed for them to turn our attack into their favor (1).

Craig gets admitted into the hospital and calls his parents to tell them where he is. When Craig explains to his parents that he was suicidal they were hurt and broken. Knowing that their own child wanted to kill himself because he was depressed hurt them. Craig’s mom immediately begins to feel guilty, blaming herself for the situation. When Craig explains that he had called the suicide hotline and came to the hospital to check himself in, his mom says: “This is the bravest thing you’ve ever done”(pg.160). Knowing that her own son wanted to die hurt her a lot, but knowing that he was strong enough to be able to come to the hospital alone proved to her that she raised him the right way. Her initial reaction to Craig’s decision wasn’t disappointment

Being filmed the day my father was leaving the country for war was not ideal. Although, my father leaving for war was not a pleasant thought by itself. I grew up a military brat, meaning, the American dream was permanently painted on my heart since the day my dad signed away lazy days and long hair. I was in first grade the year that he deployed for Iraq. Living on a Military base, that was nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t until CNN shoved cameras in our tear-strung faces as he kissed us all goodbye that I realized that it was all real.

Bear witness to the fatal carnage of war. United States soldiers have dedicated their lives to a cause. They live the life of a soldier, which means they are trained to fight, kill, and survive. Many have witnessed things that most civilians can only imagine: savage acts committed against them and their comrades, the annihilation of cities and people, the savage raping of women and children, and pulling the trigger and knowing what it feels like to take a life. Civilians cannot imagine reliving these experiences over and over in their mind, never knowing when a flashback could hit. Soldiers’ bodies and brains react as though they are actually experiencing these events again. It could be at their child’s birthday party, while taking a walk

It should have been hard for him to experience all that with the presence of his father, and much more because he did not know what was about to happen. It took him for surprise to see his father one more time after his death. But, at least he had the satisfaction of letting go all his feelings that were disturbing him and after all he felt much better.

I searched the rear bedroom of the residence, which appeared to belong to a female soldier. I didn’t locate anything in the room of evidentiary value. I also assisted with searching the only room on the second floor. I also didn’t locate any thing of evidentiary value. While in the residence, I observed a black pump shotgun on the living room floor and a 9mm semi-automatic pistol under a couch cushion. I also noticed 9mm ammunition in the living room on the fireplace mantel and .380 caliber ammunition on the kitchen counter. I was then advised by Sergeant P. Orellano three cell phone had been located in the residence and Search Warrants were going to be need on the phone. I then went back to the Police Department and completed the necessary

Riiiiing. The phone went off and Luke rushed to the phone. He thought it was the wedding planner. He had just proposed to his fiance the week before and was expecting to have one of the best weddings ever. He went over to the phone and did hesitated in picking it up, did he really want to spend his whole life with that women. He peered over the tv, the Vietnam war had just started, they were explaining how they were recruiting soldiers. He peered back at the phone, he had made his decision, he did want to get married.

Jalen knelt to his knees, crushed by emotion. Hot tears began to set his eyes ablaze, and for a moment he could hear his brother’s voice: “Come on man, wipe those tears. You’re a man now.” If his mind thought that memory would help, it was wrong. His eyes, drenched in nostalgic tears. Lacy ran to his corpse, and put her hand on his quivering back. He held his face in his hand, muscles tight; a combination depression and rage.

Maybe she should at least try to forgive him. He clearly wished he hadn't done it. The pain in his eyes bothered her. Not even she or Grace bore that much hurt in their eyes.

To hear him howling in pain, crying out for our lady mother, tore at my heart. It had started in the early morning hours days before. Was this to be the end of my beloved brother? What would become of me? "Make him stop! For the love of God, make him stop!" I begged the good physician, who stood, rummaging through his bag of medicines and tools, at the foot of my brother 's bed. "My Prince," he said without turning, "would that I could, but I cannot." "Surely," a white-faced guard near the door trembled. "Surely there is something you can do?" "I can make him comfortable," the physician murmured. "I can give him something to take his mind from the pain, but I cannot take the pain." Before the guard or myself could beg for a miracle from a man unable to give us one, the door swung open, and in walked my uncle, Lord Protector, in his customary black tunic and hose. "My Lord," the physician bowed as the guard sprang to attention. My uncle swept passed the man and knelt at my brother 's bedside. "Your Highness." His voice was a soft, sad whisper. "Can you hear me?" My brother turned his head, and let out a wail of pain as he did. "U-uncle?" he gasped out. "Uncle, please. The pain..." My uncle turned his head to the physician, despair written upon his face. "Good sir, tell me there is hope." The physician paled. To answer that question was damning, and well we all knew it. If he were wrong, his reputation would be ruined, and his very life could be in danger. "Tell me true, man!"

His head was still spinning. The accident was his fault and he knew it but he didn’t feel the guilt yet. He didn’t feel anything, unaware of whether his heart was still beating or his lungs still inhaling and exhaling. All he knew in that single moment was the girl was dead. And it was all his fault.