Personal Narrative: All Quiet On The Western Front

If I could go back to any time in the world, I would go back to France in October 1944 on the Western Front. World War Two has always interested me. Being able to see the revolutionary weapons would be incredible. I would also love to take part in such a historic and epic war. War is a horrible event that plays a major part in human development.

It is full summer and upon the horizon, I see soldiers coming, they are forever coming, it seems. Though they will soon leave us alone. For some insane reason, crazy people, scare them away. This place, has become my haven. You would think, after a hundred and forty years, I would have grown tired of this place and moved on; but when my Henry, was killed at Vicksburg, I completely lost my mind.

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.

Meanwhile, a specific sergeant tried to make my life harder. This sergeant enjoyed agonism which “occurs among those who enjoy fighting for its own sake and who perceive trading insults as a type of game” (p.21). I constantly tried to filter out the words being filled in my head, but my internal dialogue had been so negative and judgmental for so long I really believed the bad things. I could not and did not understand that I was good person with many good characteristics. I was fighting 2 wars in a combat zone, one against terrorists in the desert and the other inside my head.

It is about the middle of the day and we are on our way to somewhere right outside of Paris. The

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

War changes people. There is no escape from it: the changes happen to everybody no matter how hard people try. And Paul Baumer is no different. In All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque, Paul Baumer enlists into the war and is transformed from a young man to a hardened veteran. Throughout the war, Paul Baumer changes in a variety of ways: physically, emotionally, and mentally.

Jen saw the dogs first, their muscular bodies scudding along the pavement like torpedoes. The Brothers and their men came after, followed by the girl and the fat woman. Jen hung back, keeping close to the buildings. Daniel and Joseph Avery were dangerous; catch their eye, come into their orbit, and you would become their victim. They stalked the streets like warlords, their dogs always by their side, their gang of sycophants never far away.

I was assigned my first mission, I was transported to the German army I have waited for this moment; for my line of duty that I would be apart in. Everyone was in a complete panic; all over the news was constant reminders that Austria army has declared war against Serbia. I knew that it wasn't going to end well, then again, doesn't war never end well? Bloodshed, men dying. Bombs. It was going to be complete chaos. Chaos, chaos, chaos. The thing that never ends. Everyone always getting their underwear tied in knots; because of something someone didn't like; or got accused of, and is determined to prove that it wasn't them who did it and decided to point their finger and get another country of billions of people. Now, everyone in every once

We picked up guns and bullets from the men that we killed. They were spread out and unprepared. We bolted down the street; most didn’t even see us coming. At one point our group of thirty soldiers encountered a few that had taken cover in a nearby neighborhood—not far from where I lived. We exchanged shots for a while before suddenly hearing the sound of rifles as their shots died out. We looked up to see from the windows above, people with hunting rifles, helping our cause. I looked up the street to see my mother and father, with a few windows unbarred, each had a rifle in their hands as well.

With the gradual disintegration of discipline, many of the invading force had decided that amongst the chaos, pocketing a few items from unattended stores might be worthwhile. Amongst the first items to be pilfered, warm clothing and bed linen were most highly prized by the soldiers. The confectionary store too, was stripped of all its sweet delicacies. The pavements, showered with shards of glass and chocolate wrappers, were lined with soldiers devouring food with both hands. Knowing their hunger would swiftly return, they lined their pockets with tins of all varieties. Even the jars of jam and spam were not spared. Turning one particular corner, a bread-laden trolley pushed by an eager one-armed soldier emerged. However, it

It wasn't until now that I discovered that working with my peers and collaborating ideas makes everything so much easier. In all my years here at visa I never really liked to share and collaborate so instead I would just do everything on my own and it would be a hassle because I’d struggle. Then Came up a project that I had a really big interest in since my younger years. In my history class we were in the World War 1 unit. This Unit was brought up to my attention by Mr. Dewaele because he knew I wanted to join the military and I was so passionate about this unit because I'd take a camo backpack to school and he would pretend that my backpack wasn't there because it was camoflauge. Mr. Dewaele would rely on me when it would come to military

Looking around, I was brought to disappointment as I see no sign of my mom. I was taken to the barracks which were separated into different stalls. They were quite small and there were rats scurrying across the aged floorboards. Three wooden bunks with straw mattresses took place in each stall. Scurrying through the crowd, I made my way to the bunk all the way in the back. On each side of me, there were many Jews with cuts and dirt all over their faces, arms and legs. A lady in a bunk ahead of me had tears streaming down her face. People gathered around trying to calm her down. A crescendo of footsteps was heading towards our barrack. Nudging myself deep in my knees, I attempted to stay unnoticed. The Kapo walks in with a large rifle and a simper on his face. “ Lights out! Go to bed or you may not live to see the morning! ” The woman was still balling, I didn't dare peek my head up to see the Kapo come by. I heard a loud gunshot and a scream. The whimpering of the lady stopped. Loud footsteps of the Kapo walking towards me created a skip to my heart beat. Fear gradually left as I heard him leaving. More horror is on its way for tomorrow will

The day was overcast, cold and thoroughly November. I answered the call to arms with the eager sincerity of a private fresh from basic training. My Grandfather wept openly, fearing for my life as I bade him farewell. I entered a young soldier brimming with bravado; I returned a troubled man with bruised ego, clutching hard-won wisdom to my breast.