Personal Narrative: My First Vietnam 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...

We narrowly made it out of the airport. Hank almost got taken down because he got distracted. These infrasound weapons were devastating, but had a major drawback, one that almost cost my best friend his life.

I was stricken down by a poisoned cow and left my family on October 5, 1818. I have chosen to roam as an apparition to watch over my son, Abraham, as a shadow he unaware of. All phantoms appear differently as each has a different reason to roam. Those that need to remind the living of the past will appear as how they died. I am only a spectator so I need not appear at all. I simply wanted to see what happened to my son after I died too young. However, my country is changing and my boy is at the front of war.

All of my problems began and ended with a book and a statue. I was currently surrounded by dozens of giant carnivorous lizards. This explanation may be slightly confusing for you, so please allow me to tell my story.

I interviewed my grandma, Diane Thompson, about what the American Dream was for her in her 20’s in the 1970’s. In 1970 she was 21 and in 1979 she was 30. Diane was a young female adult.

When I first came into the Vietnam war, I wanted to be the medic that stayed back at the base camp. I would have been more comfortable patching up the wounds of other soldiers. I wouldn't have had to see the initial pain and ago ny on their faces, as they felt the bullets penetrate through their skin. Anything would have been better than being on the battlefield, where I can witness people I consider brothers die. Being the medic, I would have had the chance to save one of these men's lives. But instead, I must fight alongside them, trekking through the booby-trapped jungles in search of Vietcong.

make her be quite. The dog has also managed to follow us the whole time she started to lick

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

Eighteen-year-old George Horton wakes up like every other day that school year to the iterative alarm clock going off at 6 a.m. He walks to the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror saying, "This is the last school. This is my last year then I'm free. Only two more months in this hell hole". He goes on to wash his dark Hershey-like skin, and heads to school. George is a senior at his third high school after being kicked out for fights, drugs, and just about anything that would label a student as a "bad apple". He enters his first block class half asleep from being up all night. Mr. Bruckmann acknowledges George as he raises his hand and asks "May I use the restroom?"

Christmas arrived during my first week home after my discharge from the army. I had been stateside six months, and when I woke up, I felt like I lost my marbles. I mean I wondered if I was an addict, an alcoholic, or insane.

It was in my hometown, when the disaster happened; the smoke has yet to leave my nightmares. Since I was a little boy, my family fought with each other. It was not uncommon, though, for families to fight, I mean at that time the country was completely divided. We were in a troubled time; families were depressed by conflicts in Vietnam. The Vietnam War was just starting and nobody knew how big the issue would become.

I was traumatized after what has happened. The sky that was once blue was now gray. Most of the human race has been wiped out and the only survivors are hiding underground. Not much food is left and there is only a couple more months before we all die. A man they call Joey “the Destroyer” is out to eradicate humans because of what they have done. His whole family has been killed by Nazi and he has lived a lonely, sad life. The humans have been getting smarter and smarter and found a way to time travel. Joey saw this opportunity to get revenge and thought of a plan to somehow steal it. Joey has seen how to work the Time machine and all he has to do is get in it and no one can stop him at that point. The time machine is guarded 24/7 by the FBI.

The wind sings its chilling tune through the stiff branches of the trees. The stale air pierces my lungs sending a chill down my spine.I fear that this war is not as holy as they claim. For there will be other implications with the holy land, but I cannot let on that I a Templar knight have suspicions of my mission to retrieve the holy land from the Muslims. I must fight to live for there is no escaping this war now ,fight to see my family once again, oh hold them safely in my arms.To hear the voice of my love call my name once more.

It was the night of the night of Vietnam’s war world two in 1968. People were terrified and petrified about what was going to occur. They were crowded in a small living room trying to avoid the waves of bullets. So many big bangs were heard in different locations outside and inside of the house. Everyone stood still waiting for the bullets to stop, but it seem to never end. Everyone was reaction fast and took cover under a furniture so they could have a better chance of not get pierced by a bullet. My mother and her family were questioning where one of her brothers were because he seemed to be missing.

My parents would always tell me, “You have been blessed by being raised in a privileged environment. You do not understand what it is like to grow up hungry and poor.” I would roll my eyes until my retinas felt as though they would detach. “But regardless, always remember that you are Vietnamese.” I would look down to my hands, thinking that these hands were no different from the rest of my peers. They weren’t Vietnamese, they were American; they were happy. If being Vietnamese meant suffering, if it meant the pain of an empty stomach and the mournful sorrows of constant death, then I didn’t want anything to do with it. It wasn’t until the summer of sophomore year in highschool that I had my paradigm shift.