Personal Narrative: Why I Didn T Tell Me During The Summer Of 1943

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.

August 6th, 1945. It was just an ordinary day. I woke up early this morning to help a friend move some things. Everything was well until I saw the light. I plunged myself between two large rocks, no questions asked. When I was able to get a glackr of what has happened I saw nothing but destroyed homes and dust. I’ve never seen so much blood, it was unbearable. A lady and her injured boy came my way and I couldn't help but help them and take them to a shelter to get help. As I looked over the city, a thick black smoke filled the air. Then the thought hit me, what about my family? Immediately after I ran to search for my family. On the way to search for them I began to feel guilty. How could all these people be hurt, injured or even dead,

It was now the sunday morning of December 7, 1941, where many military personnel had a time of leisure. Many of them either were still sleeping, in halls eating breakfast, or getting ready for church. I who had been in the mess hall having breakfast sat with a group of men, enjoying a warm bowl of oatmeal and coffee. As I took a sip of coffee I felt all my muscles awaken and gain strength ready for what this day would bring me. It was just another day of work, or that is what we all thought. The hall was full of cheerful men laughing, talking, and eating. All of a sudden we heard the sounds of planes racing through the thick air, and the crowd of people grew silent. I looked around as everyones faces grew with fear and confusion, as they ran outside to see what was going on.

Meanwhile, a specific sergeant tried to make my life harder. This sergeant enjoyed agonism which “occurs among those who enjoy fighting for its own sake and who perceive trading insults as a type of game” (p.21). I constantly tried to filter out the words being filled in my head, but my internal dialogue had been so negative and judgmental for so long I really believed the bad things. I could not and did not understand that I was good person with many good characteristics. I was fighting 2 wars in a combat zone, one against terrorists in the desert and the other inside my head.

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

In the text, “How to Tell a True War Story” Tim O’Brien expresses his thoughts about the true war story and how the war story is changed according to the person who tells it. Jon Krakauer illustrates Chris McCandless’s journey into the Alaskan wilderness and reasons for McCandless’s gruesome death in an isolated place, in his book “Into the Wild.” O’Brien relates introspection and a soldier’s war story by saying that the war story portrays the feelings of a soldier. A soldier’s war story is not the exact war story; it is the illustration of that particular soldier’s perception. Narrating a war story is not like inundating others with facts and numbers however, it is about the introspection of a soldier, because that soldier determines

Times like the year 1943, were never talked about in my family. 1943 was 60 years before I was born, yet if you bring up that time, you would be hushed by your mother and told to be quiet. But why? Nobody in the family even knew why. Well, except my great grandfather, Joseph G. Koch. He lived it. Saw it. Smelled it. “The odor of burned flesh was strong,” he said. 2008 was the year when everything changed in the family. The code was cracked. The silence was broken. The secret was out. That was the year my twit-headed uncle put himself to good use, and asked my Great Grandfather about the importance of 1943 and what it meant to him. This was the first time anything was talked about. The hushes and whispers finally dissipated.

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you all, but I do hope you all are well. It has been a rough three months since I've joined the other nurses in aiding this war and needless to say I have settled in and adapted to the conditions. Since the beginning, nothing has changed within these 3 months, neither side had gotten much advantage of the war. It would be as if a back and forward tug of war between the two sides. Everyday I watch from the tent as hundreds of men rot away in the horrid conditions of the trenches. Many were brought in but many doesn't mean all. After barely being treated and having about a week of recovery soldiers were sent back to suffer in the battlefield. A few weeks ago a huge storm crossed the battlefield. The trenches

Through the years 1939 through 1945 there was the terrifying tragedy of World War II. It wrecked people’s homes and nations, killed many families and friends. However, the true destruction it caused was on the mind, the psyches and the sanity of the loved ones waiting at home and the men in battle. I am Louie Zamperini and this is my story from the war, and how I was unbroken.

All is going very bad for us in the trenches. No one was really prepared for what this war has brought us. The war has many factors that are very terrible and for most, unbarable. I can not think of a time where I have been more scared.

turning my head again I saw Simon dive to my aid. He did not utter a

My first disturbing encounter with SFC Wilson was in November 2016, we were housed in lodging across from one another and he made the remark that I should make sure my door is secure and rattled off my key door lock number. After that incident, I shoved the sofa that was in my room up against the door every night until I moved to permanent housing. I was very relieved that I would be away from him so that I could sleep better at night. The second incident was during the first course of the 42A30, SFC Wilson introduced himself to the instructors and made it known to them that he did not know what he was doing and he would need assistance from all of us. He would ask my opinion about issues or situations that he was assisting in creating

Little did I know that was going to be the second to last time I would see her. If I knew about my upcoming death and I had a choice, I would have stayed, but when you are deployed to the US army you don't have choice. You can resist orders and be killed or you can follow orders and have a slight chance of surviving. I chose the later because I wanted to come home to my beautiful wife.

Sweat beads dripping down my forehead, loud thuds in my head and a dark, dark quiet room. I kicked the blanket off of me, it almost felt like I was lifting a heavy weight off my shoulder and throwing the burden out the window. I spun my feet around and got up quickly, the world spun with me as if I was being sucked into an inevitable vivid hole like in Alice in Wonderland. I could feel the adrenaline rush. My heart was beating irregularly and I had a blurred vision. I managed to balance my feet on the cold, hard wooden floor. I felt a shiver scamper down my spine. I started fumbling for my calendar. Same day today, 10 years ago, 20th of September 1944, I was arrested by the Gestapo and deported to the Westerbork transit concentration camp and

It was a dreary day, as it was every day here. The sky permeates with hate. The sun hiding from the horror under a blanket of darkness. The door to our barracks slams open and I knew it was my time. Some of the new prisoners were up and ready not knowing what approached them while us more wary prisoners hid as we had heard the stories. They round all of us up but what awaited us was so grimmer.