Silver Raindrop Monologue

Jusef Komunyakaa’s poem “You and I Are Disappearing” is about an experience in which the author was helplessly looking at a village girl getting devoured by flames that were caused by a firebomb called napalm. Within the context of the gruesome of war, the author puts down in words the vivid images of both the civilian and the soldier during the Vietnam War. While the village girl was engulfed by the flames, causing her physical pain, the soldier was also powerless in watching her burn. Years after the war, the speaker recalls how he still sees “a girl burning in his head” (Komunyakaa 2). A truth claim that can be drawn from this poem is that both the civilians and the soldiers are victims of war. I

Trauma is not uncommon for victims of war, especially those who have been wounded by opposing forces. Mariatu has shared many traumatic events through her memoir, which help the reader further realize how grueling war can be. The following log shows 12 of these events, as well as the internal and

I looked down at my yellow tunic and blue pants. Unlike other soldiers around me, I didn’t have armor. Our commander slowly brought us to a stop in front of what appeared to be Constantinople, the city we sought to take over. We had been attacking the city for over a month and still we hadn’t made it past the protective wall. They laid a chain across the mouth of the Golden Horn to stop our ships from approaching the city. “Charge!” Our commander yelled from atop his white horse. I took off running with towards the walls. As we ran I smelled body odor, blood, and death. The sound of heavy breathing, crossbows being fired, swords clashing, and screams of pain filled my ears. Dead bodies littered the ground around us. As I neared the wall I threw the ladder I had in my hands against the wall and started to

He woke up sweating and breathing roughly; it has been forty-eight years since the war, but every night, his nightmares take him back to the forest again. He’s scared of closing his eyes, because the darkness allows the images of bloody limbs, empty eye sockets, of death to fill his mind. I’ve never seen my father as helpless as he looks after waking up screaming, and to help ease his suffering, I decided to read the entries of a diary that he kept during and after the war:

The sky is terse as if it were painted cobalt blue, a hymn to life. I'm walking with uncertain steps to the TLC, wrapped in a woolen cloak like a witch fallen victim of her own spell. It's one of those days; a tiny homunculus of the caves, survived the ice age, is relentlessly punching my right eardrum. The view is blurred, and I can barely walk straight and conceal the anguish that overwhelms my reason whenever the damn caveman gets out of bed on the wrong side.

Frosty, bitter, crisp air filled my lungs, It wasn’t supposed to happen, maybe it's her fault. Intense, vivid, sharp, the language of tongues, It wasn’t supposed to happen, keep this secret in the vault! Flustered, warm and naive, heading towards harm.

The wounded were coming into the post, some were carried on stretchers, some walking and some were brought on the backs of men that came across the field. They were wet to the skin and all were scared. We filled two cars with stretcher cases as they came up from the cellar of the post and as I shut the door of the second car and fastened it I felt the rain on my face turn to snow. The flakes were coming heavy and fast in the

I don't have magical powers. Wasn't born into royalty. Or poverty. I don't feel the Earth rotating or the seals clapping or the sun blazing any more than any normal kid would. Let me introduce myself.

A father holding the hand of his six-year-old spoke softly to him. The boy wept from fear. His father stroked the boy’s head and pointed to the skies. It was as though he was explaining something to him. The machine guns opened up. They and others fell backward into the dry riverbed.

Ether rain or shine you're still on my mind dancing up on stage, or walking in a park being as carefree as ever.

I close my eyes as the shock wave echoes off the rocks popping, and snapping like a tree cracking. I open my eyes looking thru the scope to find the once flourishing village decimated by the explosion. SNAP! The rounds fired from the remaining insurgents buzzed over our head's like locusts. I thought to my self as I looked over the destruction. The sweat in my eyes, heart pounding as I steady my reticle at man's chest. I thought about the crucible that forged me into the person I am today.

A shock of lightning illuminated the night sky for a brief, stark moment. The sudden contrast of bright white within the dimly lit apartment was enough to draw a few startled screams, barely audible over the booming base eminating from several speakers. Evil looking clouds lurked outside, a rippling turmoil of greys and blacks threatened a sea of rain which already fell in steely sheets of chilled water. To the occupants within the apartment however, the weather couldn't be more important than a fly trying to get in. The rippling mass of bodies, jolting and grinding to your stereotypical mix of party hits, slogging alcohol by the crate, couldn't give a single fuck about the veritable flash flood going on outside, yet the call for shots brought

Pink. Purple. Blue. How on earth did these three colours, I wondered, come to mean so much to me? Blue. Purple. Pink. I cheered as they came into my view, palms sweaty and fingers beginning to cramp as I vigorously waved my flag, an enthusiastic member of the sea of rainbow that surrounded me. Seeing those colours flying so loudly in procession, with such pride and determination, set my racing mind at peace. Finally, a place where my identity was not synonymous with “confused”, a place where I could fully express myself without fear of judgement or being laughed at. In that moment, watching as the vibrant parade twisted its way through the overcrowded Toronto streets, carrying with it the unique power to make all judgement disappear, I think

On this day, the anniversary of the unfateful slaughter, I did nothing but sulk in misery. For hours, I would sit here, reminiscing about the bittersweet memories. All while filled with emotions such as anger and sadness.

The shocking, cold feel I felt was like ice inside veins and my body exposed to a winter snowstorm… the numbing feeling hurt. I can’t move …echoing through out… but no one here all I see is a beautiful electric blue and a moon more silvery then silver itself … gasping…waiting for help please! But no one will… yelling to myself Move! Move! Move!