Personal Narrative-Memoir Of War

My hands were covered in blood.. It was only a matter of time till they caught me.. I could hear the roaring of the wind. The heavy breathing coming from my own chest.. My stomach ached in pain. I could feel the tears beginning to escape from my eyes...

Memoir Rough Draft Typical, just a typical summer day for me. In fact, everything about it was typical. The time I got up, what I had for breakfast and what projects my dad had in store for me to do on the old house. My other family members would too also get jobs and projects to do around the house. Most of the time everyone would work on separate things and we would get many things accomplished putting us closer to our goal of getting the house on the market. But there would be times where we would have to work with other people. Depending on who you worked with you either got stuff done or you were arguing with that person about the silliest of things which would inevitably cause you to slow done and not get anything done. For me, that was

War Story- Personal Narrative Finally we got a well deserved break from what seemed like our endless marching. As we stopped pain shot up my left leg like a bullet. I looked automatically to my right. Nobody was there. My best friend Simon would usually stand there, as he had in the war before, I could imagine the grin on his face. The images of all those years ago started to play in my mind… It began when we were assembled in the safety of the trench. Then we heard those dreaded words that can make a man throw up with fear for his life. “Go! Over the top men, go!” I froze, not breathing, not even blinking I was paralysed, standing there motionless, my legs as solid as Then, turning my head again I saw Simon dive to my aid. He did not utter a

When I first got put in the challenge program I was very scared. I only knew a handful of people and I didn’t know if it was the best fit for me. However, the past 4 years have proven me wrong. I would have been bored and in challenge when you have teachers like Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Hill, you wonder why you questioned yourself.

If there was anything more terrifying to a shy, introverted, teenage girl than the idea of being a in crowded room full of strangers, it would to be actually in one. Yet, there I was, surrounded by a numerous amount of impatient, jet-black cars that illuminated the dark streets, rows of musicians rehearsing their piece by playing a dissonance of sounds, and the expectant, motley crowd of people lining up on the sidewalk for the veteran’s parade.

It was mid-October and in the twenties, because it was October as was I am finishing my route. As I biked the town seemed so beautiful. I like this job because it helps me get away. I had woken up with Abelard screaming about friends lost in the war. Jacob had to come over help him. Jacob was a friend of the family and was also referred as an hyphenated American. The two had been bullied at the start of the Great War long before it came to America.

I was running around from tent to tent and it was chaos I was scared, but I needed to help the people that were hurt it was my job. As a German plane buzzed overhead I, nurse Helen Doyal dropped face down in the mud. As an American nurse serving at a British Army base hospital near the Western Front in 1918, it's my job to help the wounded people and soldiers who fight.

Back to the Past 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.

Sweat trickled down my back and forehead. I felt a single droplet drip off the tip of my nose and splash onto the earthy mulch that had just been spread in the previous week. Stephanie summoned me over to see if my garden claw would be a better match, than the obviously weaker trowel she had been clouting into the ground. Waging war against the stubborn roots thriving in my front yard for ages, would not be an easy chore. We had agreed to help weed, but only in hopes of a cold, creamy reward promised by my lazy father. With a few quick steps, I positioned my body into what my naive 14 year-old logic had apprehended to be the most efficient stance for extracting this stiff shrub. Looking down at the exposed flesh of the half-beaten roots. I prepared myself for my own King Arthur moment, taking short but confident glances up and down my “Excalibur”, which in my fable was sadly only a rusty old gardening fork.

I was just a mere eight years old the day of the battle, but I remember it like it was just yesterday. My family of three lived in Franklin, Tennessee, not far from the Carter family, whom we were quite close with. On November 21,1864 Union soldiers began to roll in.1 The soldiers dug trenches not too far in front of the Carter’s home. Their house and the Carnton plantation got the worst of it. 30,000 Union soldiers entrenched taking up over two miles,2 with no regard for our little town.

I gradually slowed from a run to a walk before coming to a complete stop. I started to listen to my heart instead of my mind as it was corrupted by a fear so profound that it made my blood run cold every time the thought arrived in my head. I never should have left my platoon. It was a mistake. They had always been there for me even when I didn’t think I needed them, but now when they needed me I let them all down. I knew I was weak and that’s why I had run away but it wasn’t my fault that I was here. It wasn’t my decision but the government and its conscription policy. What did the government know about fighting in a war? Why don’t they allow any of their children fight instead of someone else’s? I turned around and started heading back deeper into the jungle that I had come from.

From January 8 to January 10, 2014, the first Wounded Warrior Pacific Invitational was held in Honolulu, Hawaii. Hosted at the Pearl Harbor-Hickam bases, this event included a total of 150 athletes. The Wounded Warrior Pacific Invitational was the largest joint-service competition outside of the annual Warrior Games. At the event, servicemembers from the Special Operations Command, Army, Coast Guard, Navy, Air Force and Marines took part in the various competitions.

“Catherine, we have another solider!” yells my mom. Ever since we started building our home the war has moved closer and closer to us. Now we are known as a “hospital” to them. Basically if someone gets injured they come to us and we have to tend to them. Clean up their wounds, aid to their fractures. Nurse them back to health so they can keep fighting. After I heard my mom say that I rushed down the steps of the loft to assist him in. He limping and look like he could just collapse if he didn’t have the other solider to lean on.

I wandered across the street, the gravel crunched under my feet. I hear my dad yell my name “Amira.” I run toward my house. My dad tells me to lock the door as soon as I am in. Click, goes the lock. But, something’s not right, my dad is still outside. I look through the peephole in my door. I see 5 men in camo uniform with guns charging at my dad. They stop one meter away from him. The soliders raise thier guns. Aim. Fire. Bang, Crash. I can’t see anything except bright red blood. I scream. I hear the soldier’s feet crumble on gravel and the sound becomes more and more faint. I open my door and there in front of my eyes, my dad covered in thick blood. I roll up into a ball and start shaking. My throat starts closing up. Suddenly I hear a soft,

Going into Country Manor I thought that many of the residents there would be happy and excited to see us and play games with and the staff would be helpful. While at Country Manor I mostly played games and delivered mail with residents. The first few times I went I played games like Jenga, dice, and crazy 8’s. I played with individual residents, groups of people, and with some of the kids from Kids Country. Many of the residents I played with really enjoyed the games and the social interaction with new people. One gentleman I played Crazy 8’s with was a Vietnam War veteran who enjoyed hunting. My dad is a veteran and my grandpa is a Vietnam War Veteran so we talked a lot about Vietnam. We also talked about hunting and fishing and shared many