Short Essay

The storm clouds were dark, gloomy and grim like a graveyard. They were near the surface of the earth. It was going to rain. They were lingering on. The soldiers’ uniforms were repeatedly buffeted by the howling gale. The sky was as black as a devil’s soul. A large boom echoed across the crimson battlefield as the lighting returned the thunder’s call. Endless calls for help could be heard. Then, the rain started pouring down, filling up the battle field, like a flood, as the constant sound of the rain pounding on the metal could be heard. Heavy boots pressed down on the wet mud, which would not be dry for the next week, due to the trenches. The trenches were six-foot-deep and reeked of dead bodies and human excrement.

The next minute I felt a hand on my shoulder completely pulling me like a ragdoll back into the ditch. I could still hear the agony in the dead soldier’s voice. Then Larry exclaimed, “GET YOURSELF TOGETHER HAYES!” and began to listen to Lt. Arthur on what to do next. They were shooting at us from a small farmhouse to our northeast. All around us was as flat ground so we needed a diversion. Cover fire was ordered and we began to approach a bundle of trees near the farm house. Still recovering from the horror, I just witnessed, I ran for my life to a nearby tree where we were supposed to take cover.

I woke to the crack of rifles, the chattering of Jerry’s machine gun fire mixing with the BOOM of the artillery and realised I was lying in the slimy stinking mud that covered many of my division’s fallen soldiers on the western front. A few meters to my right I saw my best mate Jack slogging towards me “G’day mate” he said “G’day” I replied. “You know how we are going over the top to assault Jerrys positions today?” he said nervously “I feel like this will be my last time I will fight in this war.” “Why is that?” I queried, “Well” he answered “I believe that one of those bullets has my name on it this time. You know like old Charlie had that feeling before that artillery shell tore him in half?”

1. Question: Why does Gatto think that school is boring and childish? How does Gatto’s depiction of school compare with your own elementary and secondary school experience?

Swords crashed against shields like a field of doors slamming shut in the wind. Arrows whistled through the air; a murder of tiny crows swarming above us vulnerable soldiers. The grunts of men impaled by hafts and sliced open by steel join the cacophony of a battle raging into dusk. Wet warmness would splash across me in response to the dying cries of my comrades as one after another of those we battle would push our shields apart and break the line. The ground was wet and sloppy, dried earth had been turned to slush by a rain that did not fall from the sky. The ground was rendered difficult to manoeuvre through, encumbered by the lifeless figures of soldiers now without the allegiance that lead them to a face in the dirt.

A week had passed, and there they stood, finding themselves six-feet underground. The trenches were filled with mud, black as coal up to ankle height. The distant sounds of the M1 Garands and K98s pierced through the air. Jonah looked off into the distance. He was supposed to be back by now, along with the rest of his squadron.

When the helicopter landed, I was the first out. I was greeted by a small, scrawny man holding a clipboard, one of the paper-pushers as the Sergeant in charge of leading us called them - they didn’t fight, they only made sure supplies got where they needed to be - and that nothing was missing. The moment we got off, shots began to ring out. I had no idea what to do, I didn’t know from where the bullets were coming. The tree line to the north was empty, the citizens were running for cover - my brother was already dead - and he hadn’t even exited the helicopter. I realized who was shooting now.

My mates and I sat there and watched as 600 men geared up for battle. While the mysterious truth was hidden deep, so very deep down in the mind of an unknown. The fact that could have very well saved six hundred lives that dreadful day. A slight depressing mood surrounded and darkened the part of generals. The soldier’s however had a strangely different character about them. They were satisfied, hopeful and armed for anything that they may come across. Loyalty, honour, glory and courage stood out clearly in their eyes. The looks they expressed were nothing compared to usual. It was the look of nothing. However, the war was about

It is incomparable to any feeling on earth. Unforgiving is the best word to describe the atrocities one sees on a daily basis. Every step and every decision has an equal or opposite reaction. I never wanted to kill someone. I never wanted to see a body lay on the ground as cold as the tundra. I never saw a lifeless person, but if there was one constant in my mind at all times it was to survive. On this night, I would be a survivor. As I walked through the tall brush that clung to me like a leech, I could feel my heart pounding. Our teams mission was to move six kilometers north to a nearby village, and secure the location. It would be my first taste of action. My heart pounded harder and harder with each step we took as if to be to a college drum line, but I was prepared. As we passed through the marshes 100 meters outside the village, our team leader, Sargent Thompson, told us to stop. We halted like a charged alkaline battery hitting the ground. As he scanned this village with dark blue eyes the earth felt still, but that moment was was only temporarily. As Thompson rose his hand and motioned us forward my heart continued to beat out of my chest. The moment I put my finger on the trigger, my heart stopped pounding, my mind did not wonder, but instead I was engulfed in the moment at hand. The aftermath was a village burned to the ground, 2 dead teammates, 3 civilian casualties, and 10 dead enemies. One of

I opened the door to the main deck, the sounds of gunshots near and far. The smell of gunpowder filled my lungs and I found it hard to breathe. I always did. The endless waves of people, coming to face their slaughter, both sides never winning but always losing as the days drew shorter. As the sunset began we knew all our fighting would come to an end as others would take over, for tomorrow at sunrise we would start again. But for now we had about an hour left, “solider come here and help me with this ammunition” it was Sergeant Kirk, he has a fierce reputation on our ship the HMAS Sydney. I hurried over to help him move ammunition under the deck, and then rushed back to my station to meet up with Ryan, a small bloke with black hair, bit of stubble and an olive tan. We both come from the same city and we met on board the ship. We were in charge of the flak cannon on the port side of the ship. A

Shells exploded all around us, peppering us with shrapnel. Over the past months, I’d watched friends, enemies, and innocent bystanders die. Every time someone fell, I felt the briefest flicker of guilt. Had it been my bullet? Was more blood on my hands? Some nights I yelled, hoping more than just God and the stars would hear me; some nights I cried, praying no one was listening. Around me, I saw grown men falling to bits, their nightmares screaming them back to reality as they echoed through the trenches. Reality was no better than their nightmares.

He leaped out of the plane. I stepped closer to the door and looked down at the scorched battlefield underneath me. I felt the dreaded tap on my back from the commander and knew that it was my turn to leap into the battlefield below. I could feel adrenalin making its way through out my body. I began sweating and felt sweat drip from my brow as I readied myself for the jump. He tapped me again telling me to hurry up. I leapt out and felt myself accelerate through the cold air before felling the sudden jolt as the parachute opened and slowed my decent. I felt weightless like a dandelion seed floating and being caught by the wind. I looked down and studied the violent battlefield that was approaching me slowly. I could see through the clear blue sky for miles but it was the same scene in every direction. Smoke, destruction and the eyesore of decimation all around. There were planes in the air and tanks on the ground and small figures that were men on the ground running. It looked just like a sand table in action. I could hear gunshots, ear piercing explosions from this height and mortars being fired. I could smell the strong smell of smoke from fires caused by explosives. As the ground got closer and the first of the paratroopers started to touch the ground I started to prepare myself for the coming landing. Seconds later the ground touched my feet before I swiftly undid my parachute and began to run toward the trench were I would meet with the rest of my squadron. I looked around for James my friend whom I had I last seen before he jumped out of the plane ahead, but I couldn’t see him. I tripped up whilst running and fell. I looked back to see what had tripped me

“August, 1944. Beach landing south of France. Suddenly the day is ripped apart by the sound of machine gun fire; you and your men are pinned down with no help en route. As you rush forward, sliding in amongst your men, you see the fear in their eyes. If ever there was a now or never moment, now is it. With no regard for your own safety, you slam a fresh magazine in your carbine, grab two grenades and charge around the farmhouse between you and the machine gun nest. You quickly find yourself separated from your men; the only option is

Life is all about change. It's pretty obvious to most of us that the corollary states that if you stop changing, you are dead. Having said that it makes the job of describing my beliefs difficult. After all, in a year I may see things very differently. When I look back at the things I have believed it is clear that many have withered away, seemingly to make room for the growth of new ideas.

The most controversial and discussed subject in the Holy Bible would be the subject of spiritual gifts. Spiritual gifts are “gifts of God enabling the Christians to perform his or her…services in church” (Elwell, 2001, pg.1135). Spiritual gifts are given by God to help complete His work here on earth and also glorify His name. When we are chosen to by God to receive these spiritual gifts, He expects us to use those gifts in fulfilling His commission, building up the churches, and giving back to Him. That “gifts are given for the common good, that the church may receive edification” (1 Corinthians 14:5, New King James Version) Town defines a spiritual