Redcoats-Personal Narrative

After walking in on his sub cheating on him with the security guard, Taden McIntire had decided it was time to make a change. He wanted to have a life where he didn’t hate himself at the end of the day like he did working on Wall Street. Reading an advertisement for new entrepreneurs in the small southern town of Cedar Falls, Taden decided to roll the dice and move.

Boom! Startled, I quickly put my sharpened knife on my counter. With a smirk appearing, I realized we had company; therefore, I worked my way down our marble steps to the entrance of my chateau. Slowly but surely I walked down to see the door open with two men standing, only one I knew immediately. As I glared to find the face of the man who dared walk into my island, I suddenly recognized the face - Sanger Rainsford. Aha! In that moment, I knew he would be my best match on this island.

I have often been told that I am irrational, and every time I deny it. Though, this time around I am afraid I have succumb to that label; and not only myself, but my dear friend John Laurens as well. I must say, it was folly on my part to call Charles Lee out on his bluff, but I’ve had an itch on my tongue to blurt it out since Monmouth. It’s as clear as day that the man is a traitor, but how does a great man such as Washington himself blind to the fact? I have tried to reason with him on multiple accounts, and regardless of the swearing he emits, he refuses for me to do anything to him.

General Magnus had promoted Lt Layton to full Colonel and made him his new Executive Officer/ the other one had been killed by a sniper a week earlier. General Magnus knew it was those SF bastards because the round was a .50 Caliber and had to have been fired from an M107 possibly a mile or so away. It gave everyone pause, thinking now that every single senior officer was a target. What they didn’t know was that it was one of the 28th ID scout platoons that took the shot. Some of them had gone to

wanted this town to be just like one back home in America and it “became

They've been thinking about sending money down here—to put up stores, build factories. It'd mean a lot to this town, an awful lot. But when they read about shooting and killing in the streets, what are they going to think then? I'll tell you. They'll think this is just another wide open town, that's what" (Foreman 315).

Last night was a wonderful night.I went to sleep with a huge smell on my face because.Red chief was missing I didn’t care WOOW.My leg was shaking bad I knew I had to use the bathroom.Bark Bark Bark what is wrong with my little poop poop.I said so I look out my craker window soon as I saw Red chief run over my trash can chashing my little poop poop around with an baseball bat soon as I.open my window Red cheif run over my trash can I said.Red cheif go home and go to sleep before I.call the police and make sure you don’t come back to bother us anymore. When I said that Red chief come back with some heat he threw.His baseball bat at my window and shatter it then said you go to sleep you old bagged yelled Red chief and run off soon.As Red chief

As the plane lands in Atlanta, Georgia two hundred others and I are escorted by Drill Sergeants to the buses. Several hours go by and finally I arrive at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. I glance at my watch, it’s three o’clock in the morning. The Drill Sergeants are screaming “MOVE PRIVATES! WE DON’T HAVE ALL DAY!” I run as fast as I can to formation just to stand at the position of attention for three hours. The morning sun is beating me in the face and the Drill Sergeants are still yelling.

I was plunged into what I equate with the Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean. I spent months, years even, quite literally, drowning. I didn’t  just have cramps; I had what felt like a caged bird inside of me, feral and flapping its wings in a frenzy of feathers. I didn’t just feel senses of sharp pain; I had what felt like a neurological Star Wars of cataclysmic proportions exploding inside me, with eternal pinches, twitches, and electric-like shocks--deep and full, like a moan that always stays in a low octave. Sometimes, however, it was more of a burning sensation, like being pressed by a hot iron. Ironically, this invader's attack was invisible to the untrained eye.

For several days in succession fragments of a defeated army had passed through the town. They were mere disorganized bands, not disciplined forces. The men wore long, dirty beards and tattered uniforms; they advanced in listless fashion, without a flag, without a leader. All seemed exhausted, worn out, incapable of thought or resolve, marching onward merely by force of habit, and dropping to the ground with fatigue the moment they halted. One saw, in particular, many enlisted men, peaceful citizens, men who lived quietly on their income, bending beneath the weight of their rifles; and little active volunteers, easily frightened but full of enthusiasm, as eager to attack as they were ready to take to flight; and amid these, a sprinkling of red-breeched soldiers, the pitiful remnant of a division cut down in a great battle; somber artillerymen, side by side with nondescript foot-soldiers; and, here and there, the gleaming helmet of a heavy-footed dragoon who had difficulty in keeping up with the quicker pace of the soldiers of the line. Legions of irregulars with high-sounding names "Avengers of Defeat," "Citizens of the Tomb," "Brethren in Death"--passed in their turn, looking like banditti.

(Hook) Peaceful village, green grass, blue skies, and swaying trees. Now, isn’t that the place you would want to live? This can all happen in the village in Covington Woods. Today I will be talking about (Claim) why the members from Glade should join us in Covington. You should join us in Covington because our community is safe, life is simple, and there is no reason to be scared or worried.

Dawn broke through the tops of the trees; the fine rays of sunlight, glimmering off the needle-shaped leaves as they swayed in the soft winter winds. No more than a day ago the snowstorms had ceased. The blizzards had frozen men alive in their tracks, or as they slept through the night, life had drifted from their stone cold bodies. But now all was calm. Nothing stirred but the delicate snow falling upon the fields, capping the tall soldier pines and burying the glaze-eyed, petrified figures. The remaining troops were dwindling by the days. Too war-torn and starved to produce the usual racket that could be heard among the cohort. The only sound they ever seemed to make, was the constant cantankerous whining for a fire; or else the moans as

(O’Brien 152). The reader is constantly second guessing themselves. This experience allows one to relate to the feeling of the soldiers, one of constant wondering, “Is this alright?” and/or “What am I fighting for?” Thus, the soldiers experiencing the paradoxical nature of war in this story is mirrored and experienced by the

It all happened one regular afternoon on a Wednesday at Hertford County Early College. It was around 4:40 p.m. and video game club had just dismissed from Ms. Smyth’s room, everyone except for Nick and Alston. They were still waiting for their rides.

They looked like lepers, not heroic forward scouts. Their faces looked moss-grown, hatched and sorrowful without hope. It was a stinking life” When you are a part of a war you are out to fight for your country leaving everything behind, and your life is unpredictable as you are not aware of what might happen. You may die or you may be one of those lucky few people who survive the war and get to tell people stories about it. But the scars never fade. It’s a carving engraved in your brain that creates a picture you simply cannot erase no matter how hard you try. Some people pride in being soldiers while some think of it as a burden. But just because you are in a dejected atmosphere doesn’t mean you become the atmosphere itself. You should not forget who you