Personal Narrative: My First Vietnam War

After war hit, virtually everything was deteriorated. In a four-mile radius from where I stand, not a single architecture except for the government buildings and makeshift shops are still structurally sound. Families are forced to survive, father's craft shelters for their families out of the detritus that remains. Children, including ages of even six years, sleep deprived due to labor, desperately attempt to rest on empty, dented, bed frames. The only people that have real, formal shelters are the aristocrats that pay hundreds of thousands of dollars to hire a room in a government shelter and the government families.

A jagged pain arcs across my chest as I take in a breath. My legs grind up one after the other, barely moving but still pushing me forward. The runners ahead of me continue to press on, legs becoming a blur as they widen the gap. Eyes glancing up for a split-second, I find a primitive strength rising up within me, something that says No. You are not done yet. Throwing my arms higher and feeling my body ache even more, I set my gaze on a tree that lines the top of the hill, and I gradually increase the length of my strides, slowly but surely catching up with the group that was about to leave me behind. As we pound around the corner and begin to coast downhill, I release a small sigh of relief, despite my exhausted lungs. I may have won a battle, but the war continues, and we continue to

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.

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 sat in my room bored out of my mind. My last mission was a few days ago and since I’ve only flown once. I was getting the itch. I needed to fly. To kill. To do something other than sit here on my ass and deal with drunk French and American soldiers every night. Being the first woman to fly and the only woman soldier in this war, I had a hard enough time dealing with their horny, egotistical men comments. I don’t need them drunk too. I got up and walked to my brothers room.

The sun was rising, people start their daily routines and their commutes to work; the city is about to awake. 1862 Boston, the home of almost 700,000 Americans at the time, remained one of the busiest cities in the world.

Upon arriving to theater, the news spread out quick that one of our engineer platoons was hit

I could feel the warmth from the sun hugging my skin, I took a sip of my cold drink as the ice touched my lips. My feet were deep in the sand as i heard the waves crash on the beach. I realized that this was the first time that i had been alone with peace and quietness. We were scheduled to move out in two days. I never thought that the war would be so vicious and painful. Back in New York all they said was that you would be back in two months crowned a hero. This was my second year deployed, my platoon was deep into Vietcong territory. We had fought through jungles, rice paddies and quicksand. Most of us hated everything about this god forsaken country. Before two years ago I had never heard of Vietnam, most of us wouldn't have been able to

I was awoken with a thunderous bang that made the ground tremble and the house shake. Things were falling off shelves, crashing and shattering onto the floor. I dived under a table until the shaking stopped. Slowly and carefully, I peeked out the window and watched as the soldiers broke their way into each and every house, gathering up everyone who didn't go to the Commemoration Day Show. I ran for my hunting gun and considered my options, run or fight. I decided to run and strap my gun across my back but quickly realised I was surrounded. I formulated a plan as I rushed up the stairs to my brother's bedroom. As I reached his room, my front door was burst open and the soldiers' carefully entered my house. I locked the door behind me and for

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.

There was once a gigantic bucket of green, oozing, nasty slime above Bobsylvania. This was the most populated town in the world. Everyone was always happy and rich. The bucket of slime was cleaned up in 2145 after the big disaster. The slime came hurtling from the sky like a giant booger. It hit jacktown (which was Bobsylvania at the the time) and everyone was covered in it.

I remember something my father use to tell me, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” I remember a time before all of this crap happened, a time where i would sit on my porch, on my favourite chair and watch over my farm. “It was peaceful”, but now, now I'm crawling through the mud, careful not to pop my head up, i don't want to die. The scent of sulfur and gunpowder envelopes the fields, gun shots wring in my ears. I see mud, dirt and the occasional dead body, “god damn I miss that farm”. But now I don't know if ill ever see it again. I make it to an outpost, a little hut towards the side of our field, “Its right next to no mans land” I state to myself. Its dark, so very dark, “If i was at home i would be sleeping”, those were

My names is Pvt. James Mohammad, I’m was being deployed tomorrow the war was ready for me but I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready for war. I hadn’t been totally prepared for war yet and my unit didn’t seem to like me after all we were fighting middle easterners’ and I was middle eastern. I was born right here in america and can’t even walk down the street without being stared at or called a terrorist.

Three years had passed, no visits, no calls, not even a simple text. My parents and I aren't close. We haven't been for the past years. It was a cold autumn night, the wind was blowing, the leaves were falling, and the smell of smoke and burnt wood filled the air. I was disturbed when I heard my phone ring loud. I looked down and I was shocked to see who had been calling

The next day, we headed to Florida. We stopped by my Aunt and Uncle’s house in Ocala, and had dinner with them. It was good to see more of my family, and share a good meal with them. That night, we drove from Ocala to Orlando, where we would spend the night. When it was finally time to sleep, I was kept awake by my father’s incredibly loud snoring in the other room. I finally fell asleep around midnight, only to be woken up by an alarm at two in the morning. There was much commotion in the hallway, as everyone was leaving the building by stairs. Many people were scared, as the