War is Hell

The Things They Carried
Tim O'Brien
A good war story....

"War is hell, but that's not the half of it, because, war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love..war is hell. As a moral declaration the old truism seems perfectly true, and yet because it abstracts, because it generalizes, I can't believe it with my stomach. Nothing turns inside. it comes down to gut instinct. A true war story, if truly told, makes the stomach believe".(O'Brien 78)

Short story #3

Three Years
Locked away in the confines of some unknown force he silently read the letter. He read the letter and his heart slowly tore apart into a thousand pieces. His heart was completely shattered, damaged beyond repair. Hot tears streamed down his face, burning rivers of fire. The tears slipped down his chin and trickled onto the letter. The words began to swim on the paper; more and more tears flowed down his cheeks. His breath began to quicken, ragged and strained, until it choked out in overwhelmed sobs. His chest felt heavy, like someone was standing on top of him. His head began to pound, a banging drum resonating in the depths of his skull.
This is what happens when a heart breaks…
What I was about to do would change his life forever. I know it is not the best way to go about doing something like this, but it needed to be done. I haven’t seen Toby in three years. Three years. That is such a long time. I miss him, I miss him so much, but I cannot keep doing this. So much has changed in the past three years that there is no way we can stay together. It just isn’t healthy to keep the relationship alive. I’m different, and he is too. How can it work?
Do I still love him? I love him, more than anything in the world, but I’m not in love anymore. Three years is such a long time. Does he still love me? I’m not sure. He writes to me, but not like he had when he first was drafted. I want to save him the trouble; he does not need to stay with me if he doesn’t want to. It’s the responsible thing to do, to break things off, and to say it’s over. It hurts, but I feel like it’s the right thing to do.
Sitting down at my desk I pull out my pen and paper from a drawer.
Dear Toby,
And so it begins…

Crunchcrunchcrunch That’s all I’ve heard for the past four hours. That’s not true, I’ve heard much more than that. I can hear the crunching of our boots grinding against the gravel, the continuous stomping of feet, the urge to collapse in an exhausted heap, the feeling of giving up, the heartbreak of the memory of our fallen comrades. I can hear it all. Even though it feels like hell, we keep walking. We take these endless walks, walks with seemingly no destination, for days on end. I’m tired. I’m hungry. My feet hurt. We’re not even close to done walking.
I refuse to give up. I have too much to live for. I’ve got a girl. This girl keeps me alive through the walking, the shooting, the death and destruction. She is my lifeline to reality and normalcy. I go through hell to get back to her. She is my inspiration and one day she will be my wife.
I’ve been through way too much to stop now. I’ve been ambushed countless times from the enemy. I’ve had friends die in my arms. I’ve seen guys so mutilated it make me shudder. I’ve been shot at, pushed to the edge and back. I’ve had man and nature against me and at times, even God. But I kept going, I continue because of her.
I’m going to get back to her. She promised that she would wait for me, no matter how long it took for me to get back. She promised. I remember when I told her I was being drafted. I could see she was heartbroken, but we promised that we would wait for each other. She had said that she would love me until death and even after. And I know that she will remain true.
We finally stop walking. We’ve come one of our many bases, and I’m anxious to learn if I have received another letter from Willa. It’s been a while since I have heard from her. I can feel the atmosphere change in my platoon. Since we’ve met up with some of our buddies, the mood has certainly lifted. There are no longer clouds of doom looming above our helmets.
“Yo, Toby. I got some great news for ya!”
“What’s that, sir”
“Just got the word, you’re bein’ set home. Gather your stuff, a plane should be landing soon.”
“Really, sir?” It happened just like that. No lie. I could not believe my luck! Now I could go home and be with my Willa! Oh! This was way too good to be true.
“Yeah, Toby. You lucky dog!”
“Thank you, sir!”
Now I had one more mission, one last task to complete before I left this all behind. I had to get to where the mail tent! I made my way through camp until I found it.
“Hey, Elroy! You got anything for me?”
“Toby! I hear you’re a free man now!”
“Yup, well…just about.”
“Well I got a letter here for ya from a Miss Willa Cuerest.” He smiled a big goofy smile.
“Thanks, Elroy. I’ll be seein’ ya. You take care and stay alive so we can go out and get a couple beers, alright?”
“No problem, Toby. You take care.”
“I will.”
I pocketed the letter, thinking about how romantic it would be if I could read it with her. I cannot wait to see her face when I get back! She is going to be so excited.

Three days after the letter was sent I realized my mistake. I still was in love with Toby. I don’t know why the change but I was still in love. Even though I sent the letter and I felt it was responsible, I realize now that nothing can take away the love I have for him. I need him. Three years can’t stop that. I had made a promise. I don’t know where this change of heart came from but what I do know is that I need to do something about that letter. No, I can’t get it back but I shall write another one. I’m sure He’ll understand.
Joy fills my soul as I make my way up the path to Will’s house. It’s been so long; I cannot not wait until we reunite! My legs pump me, faster and faster. The space between my destination and me is so close it’s unbearable. The letter is heavy in my pocket and I’m filled with immense curiosity as to what treasures it contains.
Curiosity killed the cat but I’m a soldier. I grabbed the letter from my pocket as I arrived in front of Willa’s house and tear away the envelope. I began reading its contents. Blinking back tears, I let the letter that horrible piece of paper, fall to the ground. I looked up at Willa’s house, thinking that there must have been a mistake but I knew she was right. Three years was a long time. I saw her staring at me through the window; she looked into my eyes with shock. I held her gaze for a moment, my eyes pounding hers. She didn’t flinch. I nodded my head slightly. Then I walked away.

Community Proposal

For my community proposal, I will create a survey/interview to ask people in the community. Some questions that I plan on asking are: Do you believe in Heaven and Hell? Are they actual places or are they just figurative? Describe what you think Heaven and Hell are (ex: a beach for Heaven and...school for Hell)

Welcome to Hell

“Welcome to paradise.”
I shot a glance in the direction of the tired voice. It came from Johnny; well, at least I think it was Johnny. The young man was covered from head to toe in a thick layer of black oil. All of his features were blended together and he looked like some evil creature. His clothes hung from him in tattered rags. Even though I have done countless years of service, it still made me sick to see my men like this. All eight of them looked the same, marinated in a thick coat of the ship’s oil. We were all gathered on the small sandy beach, exhausted and starving, battered and bruised. My head began to gently ache.
“Okay men, lets do a head count.” When everyone from my group was accounted for, we washed off the oil and then the struggle began. We were in desperate need of food; we had gone about one and a half days without any and I could feel myself grow weaker as the seconds passed. I am a lieutenant and the highest in command in my group. I knew that it was my duty to take charge right away.
“Alright, let’s look for some food. We also need some form of a shelter because it may be a while until we get rescued. Harris and Leo, you begin to make a giant fire so we can be seen by rescue planes. Mich, Cal, and Aaron, you guys start working on a shelter. It doesn’t need to be fancy. Now me, Johnny, and Mika will look for food.”
Murmurs of ‘yes sir’s’ filled the warm, tropical air. I wiped the sweat from my brow and headed into the palm tree forest with Johnny and Mika. Once you’ve been stationed on tropical islands you can never look at them the same. The typical person would see an ideal vacation. An experienced military person knows that islands are just landmasses with no protection, little food, and blistering heat. There was no way I could enjoy this place. Marching through this tiny jungle was disheartening, I could see it on Mika and Johnny’s faces. The island was so small we could see every single coast. There were obviously no animals we could hunt, and we needed the protein if we wanted to remain strong.
“Hey Copper, maybe we’ll find some bananas.” Johnny was looking up hopefully at the trees. He was young and inexperienced but he was optimistic.
“Maybe”, I muttered as I inspected an interesting looking berry bush.
“Look up there!” Mika was pointing at another tree. “Those are coconuts! We can eat them and drink the juice. Well, if we can get them down.”
“There’s juice inside?” The puzzled look on Johnny’s face made me laugh.
“There sure is Johnny. Wanna go up there and get them?”
“Okay.”

We made our way back to the rest of the men with armfuls of coconuts. A giant fire was blazing in the middle of the beach and half of a makeshift shelter was complete.
“Good work, men.” I said as I inspected the crudely made home. It was turning out very well despite the severe lack of supplies. I looked up into the cloudless sky, shading my eyes from the harsh sunrays. I could feel the heat closing in around me, like I was being wrapped in a giant wool blanket. The sweat was pouring off me in massive rivers and my eyes began to swim in my skull. My vision clouded over and I felt a wave of nausea.
“Let’s break open these coconuts and get a drink. I got enough for two each.” Johnny was dishing out the fruit to everyone. We all gathered around, shaded by the shelter and palm trees, and began to work at the coconuts.

No rescue planes came.

After about a week, disaster struck us. Johnny discovered that we were running low on coconuts and they were our only source of fluid. I could feel myself slowly dehydrating and I knew we weren’t going to make it much longer. Planes flew over us every day but they were not rescue planes and none of them had shown any signs of seeing us.
“I can’t do this!” Mich yelled as yet another plane passed by. “I need water and I’m drinking some.” He stumbled towards the ocean.
“No!” Mika and I leaped towards him, trying to detain him. I grabbed his arm and Mika snaked his arms around the madman’s waist, but there was no use. Mich was too strong from an adrenaline rush and we couldn’t hold him. He crashed towards the water, violently scooping the salty liquid to his lips. I couldn’t watch. I turned my back and slowly walked back towards our camp. Shaking off the intense pain in my skull.

Four hours later Mich died from dehydration. I put his dog tags in my pocket.

A day later Aaron went to sleep and never woke up. I put his dog tags in my pocket.

Later that day, Cal drank seawater. He died a few hours later and his dog tags went in my pocket.

The day after that, Leo fainted and hit his head on a rock. He died instantly. I took his dog tags.

Mika then died from dehydration. I kept his dog tags.

Johnny climbed a palm tree in a desperate attempt to find coconuts. He fell from being so weak and broke both his legs and an arm. He lived. I didn’t want to move him because I didn’t know if there was any damage done to his spine. I sat with him, making a small fire so he could be kept warm when the cold island night engulfed us. I tried to make him as comfortable as possible, shading him from the violent sun, but I knew that he wouldn’t make it another day. I felt sick, the pain in my head was almost unbearable and my vision was depleting. A buzz in my head made it hard for me to hear Johnny when he spoke.
“Copper.” Johnny looked up at me, his face ashen. “Am I going to die?”
“Yes. But so am I. People die Johnny, they die every single day, but I’m not going to let you die here. I promise.” It hurt me to lie to him.
“Good, I knew you wouldn’t.” He smiled faintly.
An hour later Johnny died from his injuries. And the last of the dog tags were collected.
I just sat there next to his body, the weight of the tags heavy in my pocket. I had no clear thoughts; nothing rational could enter my mind. There was no room. The buzzing had grown to a loud roar and the pain was so relentless that I knew I must be done for. I saw that a small rescue plane had just landed on the beach but I couldn’t bring myself to walk over to it. I just sat there and watched the rescue team check the dead bodies that littered the beach for any signs of life. They then came over to where me and Johnny were. They looked at me with an incomprehensible expression.
The dog tags jingled.
My head exploded.
I did my best to smile.
It came out as a grimace. “Welcome to hell.”

Critique

The Triumph of Death

The painting The Triumph of Death, by Pieter Bruegel, is one that sparks intense emotion in who ever view it. The immense chaos that it portrays makes the reader fear whatever is happening in the painting. It is a curious painting, and it is very open to interpretation. One many think that it is depicting a war or even the end of the world. The painting is really displaying the plague in the 16th century. It is a very effective depiction because it relates the plague to a hell on earth.
There is seemingly no focal point to this painting, which is very effective. There is so much chaos that it almost seems real. Almost like a photograph. The foreground is filled with violence and death and fear. Nestled in the background is a sign of hope. A cross is put up and a bunch of priests are gathered around it. It is simple and clean; the color choice was a pure white to symbolize cleanliness and purity. It is a deep contrast to all of the dark hues of death.

Self Portrait Poem

Confetti

My name is Liz Faxon.
I do what I please.
I swim under water.
I swing through trees.

I collect rubber duckies.
It’s random, but true.
Green Jolly Ranchers are yucky.
Converse are my favorite shoe.

I’m full of confetti;
A magical rainbow of color.
I like to eat spaghetti.
I don’t know the value of a dollar.

I love my dad and grampa;
My mom and grama too.
I have an empty piggy bank.
It’s my favorite color, blue.

I like roses and black cats,
Sunny skies and my friends.
I adore rolling ocean waves,
And the summers that never end.

I love who I am.
I shall never change.
Because if I did,
I would go insane.

Critique #2

"The Triumph Of Death"

Short Story Image #2--Heaven (tropical paradise)

For this image I thought it would be cool to do a more open idea of heaven. This tropical paradise is like a heaven on earth to me personally :)

Sophia, Mother of the Angels

Short Story

Sophia's Angels
Imagine that you are being watched every second of your life; someone watching you eat, watching you sleep, watching you breathe, even watching you in the shower. Awful, I know. This is my life right now, there is someone watching my every move, my every step, my every breath, my every thought. They say it’s for my own good. They say it’s for my protection. I know this is a lie. They are out to get me; they want me to fail. I won’t fail, though, I’m much to smart for their tricks and mind games. They can’t get to me where I am. I am untouchable.
“How are you feeling today, Sophia?” One of them asks.
I refuse to answer. They want to get inside my head. I won’t let them in. Once you start to open up, they crawl right into your mind and mess around with all that’s stored away in your memory. They try to use your thoughts against you.
“Are you feeling better than yesterday?” She presses me for an answer.
I just shrug my shoulders. I have discovered that indifference is a good method. They won’t be able to tell exactly what I am thinking. They can’t get in my head; they can’t break me.
“You know, Sophia, you have to talk to me sooner or later.”
I look out the window. I can’t be forced into doing something that I don’t want to. She’s trying to trick me. She must take me for an idiot. I’m no idiot. I clamp my mouth shut. My jaw is so tight that it begins to hurt. I can’t let any thoughts escape. They are as precious as jewels and gold.
“Sophia, please. I just want to help you. I can’t help you if you refuse to talk with me.”
More lies! I can’t believe she thinks that I would believe such deceit. I turn my head back and stare at her. I bore my eyes into hers, making them as intense as they can possibly look. She meets my gaze and smiles. Can you believe that! She actually smiled. How can someone be so fake?
“What do you want from me?” I can’t help it. The words escape from my mouth. I want to gather them up and stuff them back inside, but they have already reached her ears.
“I want to help you get better. I know you must be hurting, and I want to understand why. We can’t let you out of here until we know you are stable. I know that something made you do this to yourself and I want to help you through whatever issues you are going through. I’m on your side, Sophia.” She smiled again.
I glance down at my arms then quickly look up. She’s not on my side. No one is. I’m all alone and nothing can change that. She is just a roadblock on my journey. I was almost to my destination, but she pulled me back. She is not on my side. She doesn’t want to help me.
“I don’t believe you. Please leave. Now.” I glare at her.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. You know that you are not allowed to be left alone.”
“I hate you.” I turn over in the bed, tubing getting tangled around my arms. “Why can’t you take these stupid needles out of my veins? I don’t want them in me.”
“The IV’s need to stay in.” She explains.
Just then another one of them walks in. She comes over to the bed and smiles at me. More forged kindness. I roll my eyes.
“Hello, Sophia. There is someone here that would like to see you. Are you feeling up for a visitor?”
“Who is it?” Who could possibly want to see me like this? It isn’t as if any human loves me or wants me around.
“Your sister.”
Oh. I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t care if she comes in.” I project more indifference. This one can’t see inside me either.
“I’ll send her in.”

I had no idea of what to expect when I walked into my sisters room. I was scared and sad and angry, all at the same time. I don’t know what pushed her over the edge. I didn’t even know she was so close to breaking down. The image of her body slumped over in the bathroom flashes into my mind. I had never seen so much blood before. The doctors said that if I hadn’t found her than she would have died. But that was what she had wanted. I feel like I just made her life worse by saving her.
Sophia glares up at me from the hospital bed. She looks awful. She has so many things hooked up to her, so many wires and tubing.
“Hello, Angie.” She says coldly. There’s no expression on her face. It’s like she has no emotion, no life.
“Hey Sophia, how are you feeling?” I stand awkwardly at the foot of her bed.
She shrugs her shoulders and looks up at the ceiling. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. I wonder what she is thinking. She probably hates me for saving her; in fact, I know she does. I don’t know why, but she doesn’t want to be a part of this world. She wants to be with the angels; that’s what she wrote in her suicide note.
“Sophia, I want to let you know that I love you.”
Her eyes flash open. She stares wildly at me. She looks like an animal, the human in her lost. “Then why did you pull me back? Why did you stop me?”
I feel my heart drop. Because I love you, I think. But I remain silent. Conflict arises inside of me. If I really loved her, I would want her to be happy. She’s not happy here; she wants to take her life. Moreover, if I love her I would have let her die? No! That can’t be right. Confusion clouds my mind. I think my heart stops beating.
“Sophia, your sister saved your life. That is love.” The woman sitting in the chair by Sophia’s bed explains to her. I didn’t notice her before. She must be the psychiatrist the nurse was telling me about.
Sophia closes her eyes again. This time she seems to stop breathing all together. She remains quiet for a long time. It seems like hours before she speaks but it is only a minute or two. Then she turns to me, eyes colder than ever. Slashing at my soul, like razors.
“I’d like you to go now.” Her voice is full of venom. I can feel it creep under my skin and trace through my veins, pumping into my heart.
Taking a deep breath I reply, “If that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.” She states firmly.
I turned and walk out of the room. Walking down the hallway I fight back tears. They cloud my eyes and threaten to spill over. Running to the elevator I punch the down arrow. The doors wheeze open and I fly inside. As soon as the doors breathe shut, I sink down in the corner and let the tears flow down my cheeks. Burning rivers of despair spill out onto my face, dripping down to my chin. Heavy sobs racked my body as my heart slowly brakes. It shatters into a million pieces each one cutting through the shell of my body. Is this what Sophia feels like?

Nights are the hardest. They watch me sleep. Even though my eyes are closed and I fall into a deep slumber, I can still feel their eyes on me. I can feel their awful eyes on my skin, on my wounds. Their eyes burn my flesh; their eyes haunt my soul. They think they can stop me. It’s only a matter of time before I go and live with the angels. I dream about the angels every time I close my eyes. They fly around the white clouds, singing and laughing. They want me to join them; they love me.
I had been so close to the angels. I was so close to them. I could feel their feathery soft wings brush gently against my cheeks. They loved me. They had a place for me. I was almost to heaven. Then I was violently pulled back. I fought against the unknown force but I was too weak. I reached out to the angels but they were too far away. I tried to get closer; I desperately tried to claw my way back to them. I couldn’t get to them. They couldn’t reach me.
Now I’m here, in this hell. I can’t escape the pain no matter how hard I try. They won’t let me. These demons trap me here in this room, locked for eternity. I try to get back to the angels; I try every night. The demons guard me, locking my soul. I will escape. I will break free from their hold.
They even turned my own sister against me. She claims that she loves me but she’s lying. They got to her. They must have brain washed her. She let them into her mind and now she’s one of them. She told them where I was going and she held me back so they could capture me. She wants me to stay, buried in this hell. She doesn’t want me near the salvation of the angels.
I don’t understand why they want me to stay here. There must be more people here that want to be with the angels. Keeping me from knowing the others is their plan. They don’t want me to know that I have comrades; they want me to remain in isolation. It’s okay. I don’t need anybody. I have the angels on my side. Next time I try to get to them I will be stronger. I won’t fail next time. Next time I will reach my destination.
I will get to my angels.

Critique-- Burning Tombs

The drawing of “Burning Tombs”, by Gustav Dore, is one of great interest and curiosity. The picture was originally used to illustrate the literary work of Dante’s Inferno. The drawing is dramatic but at the same time calm, and simple. It makes the viewer ponder over issues such as hell and salvation.
This drawing is realistic as well as balanced. The focal point of the picture is two men standing next to a burning tomb. They are highlighted by a lighter shade of gray so one gets the feeling that they are the good amongst the evil. They stare solemnly down at man in a tomb. He looks as though he is trying to escape with the two figures but he is to weak to climb out of his own tomb. Other tombs can be viewed in the background as well as the foreground. They seem to stretch on throughout all of hell.
When one looks upon this fascinating drawing they experience the sensory feeling of fear and almost a sense of wonder. Questions can run trough a views mind. Why are these people trapped in these tombs: What did they do to deserve this. One may wonder if this is their fate. Also, it brings the question of the definition of hell. Is it a place or a state of mind? Is it simply suffering alone?

Mind's Eye

The oil painting, Two Halves, is a very interesting painting that captures the curiosity of the viewer. One just cannot help but be drawn into the work of art. The viewer can feel the harmony between the colors as they blend together. The eye is drawn to the small wood shed, which is the intended focal point. The setting of the picture is the middle of the woods that a path runs through in both directions. The background of the scene is the ends of the path while the foreground is the actual path.
The image is balanced quite effectively. The house is heavy and so are the ends of the paths. Their positions are just right. The colors also convey the perfect calming mood. The woodsy colors are crisp and defined but at the same time muted and blended. They provide the right amount of cheer.
When the viewer looks about the painting the sensory experiences that can be felt are calmness and serenity. Questions may trace through the viewers minds. Who uses this shed? Where is this? Also one can imagine a simpler life because everything in the painting is straightforward and uncomplicated. The earthy colors are aesthetically pleasing and they provide the painting with the woodland vibe that it requires.

Declaration

The concept of Heaven and Hell is one of the most interesting topics out there, which is why I chose it. I have often wondered the actual definitions of these words, Heaven and Hell. They are places that are reached through death but the meaning goes so much deeper. Heaven and Hell are also symbolic states of mind. There is also the definitions for each and every individual. Your own personal Heaven and Hell.