“Your turn to roll the dice,” I said. We were sitting in the living room playing a board game. I had just gotten home from the factory. That was where I used to work. My wife was cooking dinner while I was playing a game with my two kids. It was sometime in the evening. It was the time of day when the sky is all shades of pink and orange. We heard rumbling which we were apt to because we heard it so frequently. The army planes made a lot of noise. They would fly over our village regularly. Just as I started to give the dice to my son, the eldest child, we heard a scream. The person didn’t seem afraid, but they seemed powerful and demanding. My children didn’t understand what was going on, but my wife and I knew what was happening. Quickly, I grabbed my children and took them downstairs to our basement. My wife followed us as we cautiously crept down to the basement as swiftly as possible while not making a sound. Not even the slightest crack, for it could reveal where we were. I could hear the soldiers shouting from outside, “These people are all Muslims. They don’t belong …show more content…
I couldn’t see anything because it was now dark. I went to the cupboard to see if the lamp was still there. Luckily, it was. I found a match and lit the lamp. Since there was no longer a door, I stepped through the hole in the wall. I could see the houses nearby. Some were piles of ash. Others were piles of rubble. I was able to see the foundations of many houses on the dirt path. Some of the foundations didn’t exist anymore. I then saw several bumps in road. They didn’t look stiff enough to be pieces of a home. Interested, I took a few steps forward. That was all that was necessary. Those weren’t piles of dirt or pieces of a building. Those bumps on the path were people who were wrongfully killed. It then dawned on me that if I didn’t leave Myanmar immediately, I would be yet another innocent person killed because of my
The buildings appear to be glued together, mostly small houses and apartment blocks that look nervous. There is murky snow spread out like a carpet. There is concrete, empty hat stand trees, and grey hair.” (pg. 27)
You will see a tremendously large barn, tanish house with a garage right in front of you right when you pull in. There will many pens for goats every, and you’ll see 4 to 6 horses near the barn. You will see a four wheeler that I just recently bought between the garage and brick well house. There
I notice the dark red paint was peeling from the mailbox, leaving behind nothing but old rust. Railings that had once ensured children's safety were now dented and falling apart. The stairs leading up to the main door were collapsed in; splintered wood laying in a large pile. I got a creepy feeling when I looked at it all. Chills ran up my spine.
Your days consist of walking, running, and shooting, but in these three years I have been thankful enough not experience a whole lot of shooting. I’ve tried to stay out of trouble and keep safe for Sammie and Faith’s sake. That is, until my last day over here. I was supposed to be out of Afghanistan in twenty-four hours, all I had to do is lead one final convoy through a village. Coincidentally it was the same village I had watched Tom Butler die in four years prior. A group of five soldiers and I were guarding the last humvee when we fell far behind the group. Segregated that’s when the insurgents say their opportunity. They threw two grenades at the vehicle and blowing it up. The heat felt from the flames of the wreckage were unbearable. I managed to get the five guys and myself into a small food store before the thirty plus insurgents came out of the surrounding buildings. I put a call in to base giving them the coordinates of where we were. The officer on the phone told me he couldn’t get someone out there for at least five minutes. Five minutes went by when I finally heard the sound of the chopper’s blade in the distance. As soon as they heard the helicopter, the insurgents started to close in on us. No one in my platoon would make it out alive if someone didn’t do something. I saw only one way out for the majority of us, and it didn’t end well for me. I grabbed my pen and paper from my pack and
At the time, it was late November and the Battalion was scheduled to return home in six weeks. Thanksgiving was only two days away, Christmas was just around the corner a feeling of hope and joy was in the air. Then, in the middle of the night, Deborah’s phone rang; Deborah’s husband was calling; she could tell from his voice that something was wrong. Through a cracked voice, Deborah’s husband informed her that he had just received word that the Battalion would be staying in Afghanistan for another four to six months. He asked Deborah if she could call just the section’s wives and as tactfully as she could, inform the wives. He also asked Deborah to tell the wives that the information being passed was not being formally released as of yet that he just wanted to give the wives a forewarning so that they were not blindsided when the extension was officially released. As soon as Deborah hung u...
The subdivision looked like a disaster area after the tornado hit. The storm had claimed the town like a bounty hunter collecting on a bad debt. Mercilessly, it kicked down the door, held us captive as we shivered fearfully, then left nothing but the slabs where our lives once stood. To the east, the angry sky roared and shook its fist, celebrating an arduous victory. To the west, the sun peered from its hiding place. Just moments before, it had fled from the danger and left us to fend for ourselves. I began to choke on the thick, dirt laden air as the debris floated softly to the ground. The taste of metal permeated my tongue as blood spilled down cheek and onto my lips. I awoke from my shocked state to an incomprehensible realization;
One day Ava was at the park and she felt like someone was watching . Ava would turn around and no one was there it felt like a ghost was watching her . Later she walked home and still felt someone was watching her but then she heard someone say my name it sounded like my dead mother but she thought I Must be hearing things and didn’t think much about it . I Got home and dad wasn’t there . He must of work extra hours she said . Ava went to the fridge to see what there was their was some leftover spaghettI and chicken she heated it up in the microwave and ate it . After Ava was done she went to watch tv and a ghost show was on . The show wasn’t that scary but half way into the show a car past really fast and through
Amherst is never dark. And it scares you. There’s a weird feeling in your stomach, the one where it feels like something is gnawing away at it and it makes you sick. Your head is starting to pound right above the right temple. Your feet and knees are fine, however, and so you trail behind your friend as they twirl in their red skirt down the way.
“I’m sorry darling, I hate to break it to you, but you can’t pass the class without submitting to me” “Sir, I beg you please” my voice trembled with nervousness, “please don’t put me in this situation, please, I just want to graduate as soon as possible.” “Fine, I’ll let you off the hook, but be prepared to retake the class several times.” “I just don’t comprehend why you chose me” “WHY ME”, I repeat with agony. “Oh, stop asking foolish questions,” he said irritably. “Why the hell would a guy go after a lady if he didn’t find her attractive as hell.
Four boys stood above me on a pile of garbage. Their words, "Bota, bota, matava" — "chubby", "fatty" suffocated me: A familiar sensation of frustration and hurt gripped me. Looking for defense I only saw a cinderblock at my feet, impossible for my eight year old body to heave, so, I screamed in English: "You are just jealous that you are poor and I am American!"
All of a sudden the ground started shaking, mom ran is and told us to get under a table while she is going to go call dad. I went to my room to get my phone and you went under the coffee table. When I came back, some Parts of the ceiling had fallen where the coffee table was and you were buried inside. I ran to go call mom but the house started to rumble so I ran outside. As soon as I got outside the whole house collapsed.
...irty minutes later my mom came home and found me hiding under my bed sobbing. She had already seen the body and could assume what had gone on. She wasn’t going to ask questions, she knew I fought for her. She also knew that this was the sort of reason she was waiting for to leave Pakistan. Mom immediately got my uncle on the phone to get the plans underway. We would have to leave within the next day. Any longer and we would be dead too. We won’t tell our families why we are leaving and know one will know we have gone until we are well on our flight to London. We will cross the boarder into Afghanistan, than be on the earliest flight to Istanbul than London. We will vanish from this life and never have to worry again. The image of Aaqib's eyes will haunt me forever, but I have to remember that it was he or I and that I will now get the life I have always dreamed of.
but I saw the farms that we were driving pass. Cows covered the fields, eating and mooing about. There were a few crops like wheat, corn and apples. Near the cows was a wooden barn. It looked really similar to ours… except this one wasn’t on fire.
There was a bent basketball hoop attached to one of the street light poles. There were a few piles of trash composed mainly of building materials and old tires. The asphalt had grass and small trees growing up through cracks, and the lines that once marked the parking spots were barely noticeable. There was also a derelict red Ford pickup truck sitting in the far corner; it was completely stripped of everything of value.
When discussing the poetic form of dramatic monologue it is rare that it is not associated with and its usage attributed to the poet Robert Browning. Robert Browning has been considered the master of the dramatic monologue. Although some critics are skeptical of his invention of the form, for dramatic monologue is evidenced in poetry preceding Browning, it is believed that his extensive and varied use of the dramatic monologue has significantly contributed to the form and has had an enormous impact on modern poetry. "The dramatic monologues of Robert Browning represent the most significant use of the form in postromantic poetry" (Preminger and Brogan 799). The dramatic monologue as we understand it today "is a lyric poem in which the speaker addresses a silent listener, revealing himself in the context of a dramatic situation" (Murfin 97). "The character is speaking to an identifiable but silent listener at a dramatic moment in the speaker's life. The circumstances surrounding the conversation, one side which we "hear" as the dramatic monologue, are made by clear implication, and an insight into the character of the speaker may result" (Holman and Harmon 152).