Personal Narrative: My First Vietnam War

The thought of the defeat screen plagued my mind. It took over all other emotion and drowned out even my extremely heavy breathing. Panic and doom rode their dark chariots led by the mares of carnage over the chaos in my mind. This was it. I attempted diverting from thoughts of the devastatingly disturbing gameplay on my screen to something positive. As the enemy team led by Lux charged the mid-lane, my mind raced to find something to improve my decaying self-esteem. I watched their tank, Darius, absorbing the little resistance provided by the last of the crumbling turrets. Fixating my glance on my re-spawn time I stretched my fingers in anticipation. A game plan was beginning to form in my mind. Eight lengthy seconds passed as I waited in

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.

Something strange happens to me whenever I fly into Beirut airport, which I have done several times in the past twenty years. My heart beats faster and I get butterflies in my stomach. I begin to recall Lebanon’s history and the horrific events that took place. Lebanon, a country that has suffered from civil wars as well as invasional wars, continues to overcome and recover from all the past scars left behind. One particular war in which Beirut and several other cities were affected is the 1982 war with Israel, also known as Operation Peace for Galilee. This war has been of interest to me since I was young because my mother would not stop talking about it every now and then. She describes her startled feelings as a young girl experiencing a violent and disastrous war.

Six wrestling mats mantled the floors, three in each of the two gymnasiums. A battle was being fought on every one, each and every soldier using all of the weapons in his arsenal. The hands of the victors were raised while the heads of the defeated drooped. The bleachers were packed with spectators. In the thin corridor that separated the two gymnasiums, people shuffled through, walking, talking, and laughing. Wrestlers occupied the indoor track that encircled the upper floor of the gymnasiums. Awaiting their next battle, the warriors prepared their minds and bodies.

I was mounted upon the forty ton steel beast, M4 Sherman. It trampled and stomped on all of its puny enemies that had opposed it. Up ahead there was a German outpost. My heart flustered in anticipation. Ba-Dum, Ba-Dum, Ba-Dum. Caressing the large crimson button, I was ready to devour. The weapon of mass destruction finished aligning with its marked target; the button like a mole went down then quickly went up. Soaring through the sky like superman, the high explosive shell devastated the side of the building. Swivelling the turret towards the exposed infantry garrisoned there, ready to unleash a storm. However there were two deafening bangs. BOOM! BANG! We were oblivious to the other tanks in our platoons as they wanted to break their boredom. Anyone could have smelt our victory from miles away. This wasn’t a battle, this was a massacre. I could feel medals already in my hands.

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.

Silence and darkness loomed over the room. Other than the occasional snore and bed creak, the room is silent, oblivious to the war that is being fought in Vietnam. Men are being ripped apart; their innards mercilessly pierced by the multitude of rounds penetrating through the air. One wrong move and suddenly, you’re soaking red, staining the garment around your torso and cementing your fate. But in this room, we were oblivious to such pains, such bloodshed. It was like if the war wasn’t even happening at all, isolating us from the pain and the death that would ultimately be subjected upon us. One of these days, we were going to be deployed, with almost ninety percent certainty that we would never see our families again. Ah, fuck it! I joined

One day a boy name Matt got a game called Fortnite, but he fought it the ground and the front of the box destroy this at all cost, so he brought it home being stupid and start and second he start it play a light, and he disappeared. When Matt woke he was in a strange land where everything look weird, and Matt realizes he in the game. Matt knew how to play a bit he thought so he got on the bus a went to Tilted Towers, and fought a pump and bandages. Then the run from his life.

I wish that there was a cure for the war, and I wish that time could freeze and no more innocent people could be suffering or put in anymore graveyards.

The monument that I visited is the war monument in the middle of the round about on Liberty and 4th Street. This monument was erected by the American Legion California Post No. 377 on May 30th of 1937. This monument was then restored and dedicated in 1989 and 1990. This monument thanks those who served in all wars and commemorates a few who passed away.

It was early when we woke up, the sun hadn’t completely risen and I was already starving. To our surprise, we found that the swamps had expanded and overflowed overnight. We camped at a site which we thought was a dry camping area, but when the sun came out we realised the whole forest floor had become one massive swamp. The stench of the swamp was so overwhelming that I suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore. Our balloon basket was gooey and dirty on the outside and on the inside patches of swamp water had seeped into the basket, soaking our sleeping gear and damaging our canned foods. We wrapped all of our spoiled belongings in the tarp and packed up our basket. We inflated the balloon and begun to rise.

Most of my grandfathers had fought in wars. Two of them fought side by side in the Vietnam War and my great grandfathers took part in World War II. My great grandparents never lived to tell me their experiences at war. I doubt they would tell me, as the thoughts may bring back scarring memories they had hoped to forget.

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

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.