Personal Narrative: All Quiet On The Western Front

Within the chapter “How to Tell a True War Story,” O’Brien writes about a story that Mitchell Sanders recounts to be true. The surrealist part is when Sanders talks about how they heard noises within the forests of Nam. Sanders says, “...but after a while they start hearing -you won’t believe this- they hear chamber music… Then after a while they hear gook opera and a glee club…” (Pg. 71). When he says this he is really adding details to pad the story up. Like when Sanders say, “The whole country. Vietnam. The place talks. It talks. Understand? Nam - it truly talks.” (Pg. 71). He means to say that he added those things that they heard because there were sounds they heard that couldn’t be explained. Later on he says that those things they heard

Entry #4: The man eventually stopped bringing us food, and we all waited to die. One day, soldiers broke into our prison, but they didn’t wear Nazi uniforms. A man in our group translated for us: they were Americans soldiers and they were going to give us food and medical treatment. I could barely believe it was all over! The Americans pillaged houses, and the slaves took food, and one slave got the icon of the Madonna. It was hard trusting the nurse at the hospital because of what I’d seen at the work camp, but I eventually started to heal and regained my strength. Soon, Nurse Astrid got permission to take me to the relocation camp. I first found the church and pray ed for my family and my friends, those dead and alive. I had trouble getting up, but a young

As you know I am writing to you from the trenches of the western front in France. The United States of America joined this heinous war in the spring of nineteen hundred seventeen. We joined the fight because of the sinking of the Lusitania and when the German Kiaser sent the note to Mexico to convince them to put themselves against us to assure we will not go to war in Europe. That did not go through because the economic condition of Mexico is not that good enough to fight in a war with the United States.

It is March first, I miss you so much it is unbearable. Sleeping can be awful out here in the trenches only because I want to be home in a comfy bed again safe and sound where war isn’t the only thing on my mind. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can’t breathe because I dream someone has invaded our trenches and shot me. It isn’t easy being out here but if it means fighting for you then it is what I will do.

Happy Easter Monday mom! How are you? Hope all are doing well in Canada. Walter and I are doing bonzer. We deeply miss you mother and, of course, father too. We both have bonzer possies here. The chief is really nice to us now. I still can’t believe it has been over a year since we have seen you. It fascinates me that exactly few years ago we were altogether even dad was with us. We have created so many memories together especially the ones we created on this specific day. Every Easter Monday, Walter will make us laugh by saying nonsense and we will all tell him to chub. Those are good times that I will never forget.

The meadow near the Western Front was nothing compared to the vast fields of the prairie back home. There, in what seems like another lifetime, was a harvest full of life, colour, and promise. Here, there was only death and harshness. Trevor, our Commander, had once described the scenery of these fields in France before the chaos. He had said it was filled with little red flowers and high green grass. After three years of fatalities and rain, the scene shifted to represent the misery. There was no colour here. Our uniforms that had once been a deep green were now covered with dried mud. The scene before me was bleak. The sky was gray; as it had been since the first day we made camp in these trenches. The ground was muddy with small pools of

In the text, “How to Tell a True War Story” Tim O’Brien expresses his thoughts about the true war story and how the war story is changed according to the person who tells it. Jon Krakauer illustrates Chris McCandless’s journey into the Alaskan wilderness and reasons for McCandless’s gruesome death in an isolated place, in his book “Into the Wild.” O’Brien relates introspection and a soldier’s war story by saying that the war story portrays the feelings of a soldier. A soldier’s war story is not the exact war story; it is the illustration of that particular soldier’s perception. Narrating a war story is not like inundating others with facts and numbers however, it is about the introspection of a soldier, because that soldier determines

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you all, but I do hope you all are well. It has been a rough three months since I've joined the other nurses in aiding this war and needless to say I have settled in and adapted to the conditions. Since the beginning, nothing has changed within these 3 months, neither side had gotten much advantage of the war. It would be as if a back and forward tug of war between the two sides. Everyday I watch from the tent as hundreds of men rot away in the horrid conditions of the trenches. Many were brought in but many doesn't mean all. After barely being treated and having about a week of recovery soldiers were sent back to suffer in the battlefield. A few weeks ago a huge storm crossed the battlefield. The trenches

I hope you are not distressed, nor should you worry about my return. This will be my 11th and the final letter I am sending home, my dearest apologies for the lack of letters, the war isn’t the place I thought it would be, the climate and conditions are horrid. The rest was the worst part, having to switch patrol areas to protect the frontline for hours, and then rest for a minimal time. Poor Jimmy died later earlier today, they say it was from diseases and sickness. I’ll need to be careful down in these trenches, fleas, and bugs crawling all over me. The ground is like quicksand, all the missiles, explosions and gunfire have turned the dirt into a sinking pile of mud all over the battlefield. My team, my second family are mostly gone… I don't

In August 17,1917 All that I have seen in the front and experienced people dying getting feed turnips and boiled water also there were camps where moors were. While that was happening these two big guys with held guns up to my face and said take care of him to me I was so scared I didn’t know what to say. After that then I got to go on leave I went to see my mom and the doctors said that she could not be cured because it is cancer. Then I went to see my dad and he asks how the war was. When he said that I didn’t want my family to worry about me and war so, then I came back from leave. Before getting to the front we had to get food so we could survive. As soon as I got some food the mortars went off one of

Some people may ask me why I am writing this now. Why I didn't tell everyone before. Well, I finally have an answer. I used to tell myself that nobody would believe me if I told my story, but the truth is... I wasn't ready to tell it. It's been 68 years and I'm still not ready. I can never forget what happened during the summer of 1943, and although I might try, a part of me doesn't want to let go... Not yet. I don't think I'll ever be ready to tell my tale, but this is a tale that needs to be told. My time is slowly coming to an end and I don't have much longer...so... here

Paul is German, but he can just as easily be any soldier. To an American reader, Baumer is "the enemy" since he is a German soldier in WWI. But through the expression of Baumer 's thoughts and emotions, we quickly realize the commonality between soldiers of both sides, and the pointlessness of war, with thousands of men dying for nothing.

The next two months seemed like a blur. I abandoned my thoughts of escaping momentarily in light of the events which surrounded Peter and Helmut. Khloe confirmed to me within days after the tragedy, my assumption was indeed accurate. Our friends had run the border on a whim. Thankfully Helmut survived and made it to the west, but Peter, everything he spoke about the night in the pub had vanished. Everything he desired or hoped for was taken from him in a rash matter of minutes.

Today we finally beat the British in battle, it was an amazing victory, although i must say, I really miss my long hair. Its a lot harder than I thought it would be to hide that I'm a girl, I cant go to the bathroom, and getting dressed is complete hell. I remember being called out of my deep slumber after Paul Rever saw the British coming. As we were all standing waiting for the British soldiers at around five a.m. I heard the shouting, “The lobster backs are down the road!” Led by Major John Pitcairn, the British troops approached Lexington. As we were lined up, preparing for battle, we were told to not fire unless we were fired upon. Our leader Captain Parker called for us to back down after seeing how many soldiers the British had and

Stanly sat up so fast he knocked his head into the bunk above him, for the fourth time this week he found himself rubbing his head while his above bunkmate muttered inaudible curses into his pillow. As he wiped away the cold sweat that had started to run down his temples he tried to shake the image of the burning wreck from his head. He had been having nightmares like this almost every night since he had joined the flying corps over a week ago, but tonight had been especially bad which he assumed had something to do with what he had witnessed the day before. He sighed and rolled out of bed. As he stood up he was painfully aware of the empty