Personal Narrative-Banda Di Fratelli

Bullets flying through the air right over me, my knees are shaking, and my feet are numb. I see familiar faces all around me dodging the explosives illuminating the air like lightning. Unfortunately, numerous familiar faces seem to disappear into the trenches. I try to run from the noise, but my mind keeps causing me to re-illustrate the painful memories left behind.

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.

Struggles of the Soldier War takes a toll on the mind, body, and soul. Throughout history, the soldier has struggled to push through the barriers war provides. There are records of the soldier’s insanity and suffering dating back to World War I, shown in All Quiet on the Western Front. His comrades are the only ones that understand what he is dealing with, and the soldier feels isolated when surrounded by civilians. It is difficult to survive mentally because of the horrific things the soldier deals with, which often cause the soldier to develop mental disorders.

I am Ella Karcewski reporting to you on this gloomy Spring evening, hoping that this war may soon be over. I am currently experiencing a day that I will never forget. The images that I am seeing, and the heartbreaking pain that I am feeling will never be erased from my naive mind. I feel nearly speechless and am saddened for those drastically affected by this war. I am encountering a tragedy as soldiers and horses alike are collapsing to the ground, screams of pain coming from their courageous bodies. Pouring rain is drenching horses and soldiers, and darkness is curtained over the gloomy sky. Ominous clouds fill the atmosphere above, and it seems that the sun wouldn’t dare peek out on this bellicose April day in 1915. All of this French territory

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.

All bullets were counted, beds made, uniforms cleaned, this occurred until suddenly 03:45 arrived. “Men, the time is nearly here,” my words choked as self-hatred flooded my body, “What we do here today will be remembered for generations to come, we fight today not only for ourselves, but all who we know. All our mates and family who live back home!” A faint cheer followed my speech as I steadied myself for what was to come. “We charge in 5 minutes. We charge not only for our freedom but for the freedom of our country. For the freedom of the world!” Spit filled the air from the cheer which erupted from my unit this time. A unity formed over the men, a cold malevolent sweat captured me. Who was I to send these boys to their death? A resolve set inside me, I would fight alongside my men, their lives are worth the same as mine. 04:00 “THIS IS IT MEN! WE FIGHT FOR THE WORLD!” I screamed as I led the charge. Vaulting out of the trench I saw no man’s land clearly for the first time. Death was everywhere, flies swarming the pools of blood. The land so barren of life no greenery was seen. A cold resolution set over me, it was the Germans fault, they caused

We all sleep and rest and eat in the trenches, but it’s not paradise. One night, the sound of loud booms woke us up. We were being attacked by some very dangerous artillery. We could feel every boom and every crack in the dirt above us. Many soldiers were not prepared for this and got sick. The attack come out of nowhere and frightened all of us.

Santiago de los Caballeros, that’s where my family is from in the Dominican Republic. Everything about it warms my heart just as much as its vicious sun does penetrating your pores until you’re almost sure they aren’t there anymore. My father’s side of the family had just come down from the Capitol, which is known to be ignorant and high maintenance despite being from a third world country. The Dominican air smelled earthy and damp, yet you could feel its purity in the pit of your lungs.We decided to sit down at a food truck area and eat the signature post-club, pre-hangover, Dominican sandwich: The Chimmichurri. It is nowhere near as disgusting as it sounds, I promise. As we made ourselves comfortable in our plastic chairs beside The Monument, we had a complete view of the lights scattered like a den of fireflies illuminating the city. I was lost within the laughter you find yourself in after one too many Red Rock sodas when our Haitian server approached us. He kept reading the menu off to us and I fell in love

Everywhere thick, hot gory blood drips from comrade’s wounds. The stench of death hovers in the air and encases every movement. A faint buzz whizzes into the ear drums as shells and bullets fluster by with brilliant flashes of light. These are the everyday encounters of a soldier on the front. No words can even begin to touch the realness of terror that soldiers experience every day. Young recruits are reeled into this torture and sacrifice everything they have and love for their country. Lively hopefuls are transformed into the unfeeling. The soldiers must think of memories as, “too grievous for us [them] to reflect on them at once.” (pp. 138) They forget, lest their state of mind plummet. Few, if any capture the graphic life and thoughts of the soldier better than Enrich Maria Remarque in his moving book All Quiet on the Western Front. This epic book follows a young German military recruit named Paul Bäumer and his classmates who come face to face with the gunfire of the Allies during World War I. Through Remarque’s well-chosen words and imagery, an average citizen is transported from their comfy home to the trenches and front lines of heated battle. In Enrich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front, he successfully illustrates what it’s like to be a soldier during war and the extent in which everyday people sacrifice their lives when fighting for their country.

I faced the sky and tried to cover the sun’s bright afternoon glare with my hands. The “All-American” B17’s were flying above us. 30,000 feet in the air and joining another formation, the 97th. Total of 40 B17’s backed by 50 spitfires. The whole day has been filled with commotion, it’s as if the ground echoed and bounced around the sounds of war. My ears rang painfully against my head, it’s almost like I still hadn’t gotten used the roaring sounds yet. I ignored the ache, and went back to the task at hand. We were told to dig, dig, and dig, and start creating the “walls”. When we got to the fields of France, the fields were already covered, allowing the Germans to create a stable defense. The battle of hedgerows ended when we blew the hedgerows

Swords crashed against shields like a field of doors slamming shut in the wind. Arrows whistled through the air; a murder of tiny crows swarming above us vulnerable soldiers. The grunts of men impaled by hafts and sliced open by steel join the cacophony of a battle raging into dusk. Wet warmness would splash across me in response to the dying cries of my comrades as one after another of those we battle would push our shields apart and break the line. The ground was wet and sloppy, dried earth had been turned to slush by a rain that did not fall from the sky. The ground was rendered difficult to manoeuvre through, encumbered by the lifeless figures of soldiers now without the allegiance that lead them to a face in the dirt.

Blind to the truth of what really happens. It’s times like this where I am forever grateful for the experience I have already been faced with gruesome events. Yet that hateful feeling of dread continues to tower over me each and every day. It’s challenging to recall what it was like for me the first I set foot on the battle field, as it seems like a lifetime ago. I suppose that I have lived a lifetime in these trenches. I wish that with every enemy I shoot it shall not say with me. A constant reminder of our sacrifices, I’m on edge as it feels like a continuous want for death. Bewildered as to when it will strike again shaken by the fact that it could be me carried away, or left in the barbarous

Approaching the American breastworks in the pitch-black night was not the most reassuring feeling in the world. True, our forces were far superior to the motley crew of American soldiers that lay before us, but confidence could only do so much for a man in my position. The thought of dying at the hands of these insane, untrained American soldiers crept into my mind and distracted me from my surroundings. Stumbling slightly in the darkness, I stopped dead in my tracks when I realized just how close we were to the breastworks. I held my breath and crouched down, as did many other men around me. All other sounds around us ceased. Slow, cautious movements and near-inaudible whispers came from behind the breastworks. I scanned my dark surroundings

As I lie in this hospital, I see bodies lying there some motionless, some frantically panicking, unlike me I lay here calm, and motionless. Cold to the touch as death tries to grasp me. How I ended up here was the day I signed up for war. I thought it would be a quick stare and we would win but everywhere hornets flew and inbeded themselves snug as a bug in the bodies of soldiers. As cannonballs soar through the sky, landing like only they would decide who lived or died. I guess I had gotten lucky that it only took my legs but I will be scarred forever for I survived, a few my fellow soldiers took a hard fall, and never got back up. But as the light begins to leave their eyes I try to save my conrad but by the time I get there it was already

A few years ago, I was talking to an Italian who happened to be the one that introduced me to such a “sport”.