Keegan Hickerson
Per.5
Humanities
Shay Lopez
The Waking Hours
The clear fall September day created a nice relief from the usual rainy days this
time of year in London. I strolled down the street of Marble Arch. The bustling city street
became a challenge at this later hour. Work let out and the people pushed and shoved
to get back to the comforts of the home. I enjoyed the last bits of sunlight. The war in
Germany spread through Europe like a wildfire, consuming all in its path. Great Britain
had not been attacked yet, but it was only a matter of time. I neared my simple but
respectable house. My mother waved and smiled, in a loving motherly way, as she
collected the laundry from the laundry line. As I neared my home, the sun dropped
below the horizon.
The door creaked behind me, and my father looked up from his paperwork. He
was a store clerk. Since the war started, finances were tight. My father was even more
scrupulous with the paperwork. I flopped down into a chair, snatching up the
newspaper. The date read September 7, 1940. I wanted to see what transpired in the
war. Germany campaigned through Africa. The Allies were trying to stop the German
onslaught to little effect.
“Roy?” my father asked, “How was your day?”
“Well enough. I had a nice stroll through the park,” I replied distractedly, still
reading the paper. I turned the page. The paper displayed more warning about how to
prepare for the “coming” German attacks. When the warnings started in the newspaper,
my family had freaked out. We prepared a bomb shelter with all the essentials, food
water, and family possessions. However, by now we were confident nothing would
happen, it had been months and nothing had happen. My sister raced in, screeching to
a halt when she saw me, exclaiming,
“What’s buzzin’, cousin?”
“Not much,Melissa. I had a nice walk through town.”
She became distracted by god knows what, galloping out of the room towards
the kitchen.
Food consisted of some nicer rations than usual, some ham, potatoes, and
squash grown from the garden. As the war progressed rations become tighter and
tighter. My mother would joke about how by the end of the war there would be no more
food. God forbid. My mother was a fabulous cook and my sister a rising star. From
practically nothing those two could create a feast for kings. The table became alive with
a flurry of activity. My father and I joined the rest of the family. The food shined with a
hypothetical sheen, tantalizing my nose, with its luxurious smells, creating a waterfall in
my mouth. I tucked myself into this wonderful meal. I clasped my hands, bowing my
head. My father began the grace,
“Thank you, God, for this day. May you watch over all of us, and keep this
wretched war away. In your name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen.” echoed around the table.
We dug into the food, eager to relish the delicious meal. Small talk started and
ended, all of us more interested in the food than each other. Dinner was closing, and my
sister was getting that excited crazy look in her sparkling green eyes.
“Mom can we do it now? Can we please, please, pleaseee?” my sister cried out,
almost hysterically.
“When we finish the dishes, Sweetie,” my mother replied patiently. My sister
raced around the table, collecting all the dishes in a frenzy. The table was sparkling in a
matter of minutes. My mother took a deep breath.
“Yes, Melissa. I will go and get it.”
I looked at my father in confusion. What was going on? My mother walked in
slowly, carrying a cake. The realization dawned on me too late, as my family burst into
singing.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…,” they sang joyously. I hung my
head, completely embarrassed. I couldn’t believe they remembered. I wasn’t going to
mention it, because that would have to go out of there way to make a Birthday
celebration for me. My father looked over at me, stating, “ You thought we would forget
your Birthday, Roy.”
My sister blurted out, “Enough talk. Can we please eat the cake?”
Thats why the meal had been so nice, and why my sister was freaking out today.
The puzzle pieces clicked together. The cake was sliced and served out to each of us. I
savored each bite not expecting to have cake for quite some time. My sister on the
other hand was shoveling the cake into her mouth like there was no tomorrow. We
finished the cake and settled down in the living room. My father rummaged around his
pocket, fishing for something. He withdrew a small pocketknife, slowly handing it to me.
“My father gave this to me when I turned 14, and his father’s father. It has been
handed down for many generations. Now its your turn.” he said.
I held the knife gently in my hand, so overwhelmed and so excited. Mother
suddenly rose up.
“Off to bed, you two.”
“But Mother,” we both complained.
“No buts,” she stated.
My sister and I trudged to our bedrooms. The excitement from the day kept me
awake for a little while. I stood up from my bed and viewed myself in the mirror. A young
man stared back at me. His features portrayed a fairly plane face, brown hair with green
eyes 5’7” in height. My family was all medium height and so I followed suit, a pretty
unassuming kid. Sirens wailed, breaking the silence. I reached quickly for my
pocketknife. Thunderous sounds crashed down, shaking the house. I rushed outside
through the front door. I could see little planes up in the sky, dropping bombs. Cascading all around the thundering crashes shaking the earth. GERMANS!
People were running from their houses to see the commotion. A bomb fell about 200
yards left of our home destroying it. I ran over to see the partially destroyed house.
Fear finally shot through my system. I looked back to my home. My father was yelling
something, and I saw my mother and sister holding hands behind him. I started running
back but before i was 50 yards away, a bomb hit the front of my house. Debris and
rubble showered me, throwing me off my feet.
I landed hard, driving the wind out of my lungs. I sat up dizzily, looking over to
where my house should have been. I arose slowly, shuffling towards the wreckage.
Smoke and dust billowed all around. My throat ignited in fire. I knelt down by my house,
tears running down my dirty face. Digging through the rubble was excruciating. I found
random articles of clothing and wood. A hand came into view. I pulled at it, my dead
sister coming into view. I held her bloody body, sobbing into her battered hair. My family
lay dead, all because of me, all because of me. If I hadn't been so stupid and ran out,
things might have been different.
3 weeks later.
After my family had died, I became an orphan and a street rat. I joined a group of
other orphans, surviving with no one left. When the air raids began at night, we would
sneak into people establishments and steal their food. It went on like this for weeks. My
one goal was to survive and kill every pathetic German I laid eyes on. When I first
became an orphan, I went to the enlistment station. They took one look at me and
waved their hands away. It infuriated me to a great extent. I wanted to do my share in
the war.
The sirens wailed through the night as the air raid began. My fellow orphans and
I prowled through the alleyways, searching for an unassuming house to rob. We all
knew it was immoral, but those thoughts were pushed in the recessives of the mind. Our
first house we came upon had an unlocked door. The posse snuck through the house
and came to the freezer. This family had some money and it was blatantly shown by the
type of food they ate. The refrigerators and cabinets were full of bacon, ham,
vegetables, bread, and sweets. We stuffed our pockets with food and ran, laughing.
This family would have no idea, and we would never be caught. We ran to our shelter
on the outskirts of London, in a small hut we had built. We felt like kings as we gorged
on the meal we had stolen. On these occasions, I could almost forget my family’s death.
5 weeks later
Winter was looming right around the corner and instead of just food, we were
stealing clothes to help warm our skinny bodies. The novelty of having no parents had
worn off. We wanted a real home with parents, but that would never happen. I wanted to
join the military so badly, but I was too young. Our group was struggling to survive the
beginning of winter, but we wondered how would we survive the rest of cold nights.
3 years later
My 17th birthday meant nothing to me, because I could still not join the military.
My comrades and I were still struggling, but at least the air raids had ceased back in
May 1941. Great Britain was still struggling with holding its own in the war.
“Richard I think today is my day to join the military,” I said excitedly.
“I don’t know, Roy. The officers might recognize you,” he replied solemnly.
“Nah, it’s been 6 months since I tried enlisting last time.”
“Alright, I won't hold you back.”
“You’re just sad I'm leaving,” I stated.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I will miss you, Richard,” I said, as I walked away, towards the enlistment center.
I strolled up the desk with air of confidence, an aura most adults have.
“Identification,” the lady said, her voice droning on like a typewriter.
“Here you are, Ma'am.”
She looked at me, then back again at my papers. Inside I was silently pleading
for her stamp of approval. Finally, she signed, giving me the approval to go on ahead.
Inside I was jumping for joy, but outside I strolled forward without a backward glance.
The officer said we would leave right away. Nervousness and excitement shot through
me, but I was prepared for anything. We drove in a jeep, heading towards Camp
Grissis. They thrust a uniform into my arms. I stood in the loo, pulling objects from
my pockets. A picture of my family sat charred at the corners. I had found it in the rubble
of an old house. I acquisitioned a pack of smokes and small lighter. I wrapped my hands
around my most prized possession in the world. The pocketknife had seen better days,
but it still remained in better condition than the rest of my meager possessions. I tucked
each one of these items into individual pockets. The knife lay in my breast pocket,
threatening to plunge into my heart. The picture in my other chest pocket and my
smokes at the hip. I instantly plunged through into the mix of newer requirements.
Running for miles on end, and working on gun control, I worked my body and mind to
their limits. Drive and dedication kept me going. 5:00 each morning, measly gruley
sustained our sore bodies.
Months passed, and the officers recognized my loyalty and commitment. The
days couldn’t come soon enough for me to finally kill the rotten Germans.
May 1944
I had finished basic training, although I had yet to see actual combat. I was ready
to change that. Rumors had been floating about that Britain and the United States were
going to retake France. At 5:00 a.m, the sergeant awoke us. ”Attention! We are leaving
at 08:00. We’re going to invade Normandy at Omaha Beach. Finally I was going to get
my revenge. We marched towards the trucks being shipped to the coast, and loaded up
in boats to go to Normandy. The gigantic battleships loomed over us, as we loaded
ourselves into the monstrosity.
I grew restless as the days passed, without any news of when we would attack.
The food tasted as if all they had was dead rats. I lifted the rat stew to my lips, hoping
the taste wouldn’t kill me. My company I bunked with and had been through training with
all had similar disgusted faces. I wrote in my journal, June 5, 1944, but stopped there,
not knowing what else to write. I leafed through the other pages only dates at the top of
each page nothing else. The sergeant barked at us to get up we are moving out. I
climbed down the rope ladder in boats. We were loaded up into small assault ships 10
per ship. The ships took off heading towards land, the ocean spray soaking our bodies.
A man to my left was hacking up his guts. Not sure from seasickness or from fear. Our
boat was the first one out streaking towards land. Men were shaking with fear, vomiting,
me other hand jittering with excitement. The whistle shook me back to reality the hatch
was lowered and… bamm. Bullets pelleted the front soldiers killing them instantly. I
decided to jump over the edge, other people following suit. My gun was in a plastic bag
to protect from the water . The water was streaked with blood and floating bodies
already. Waves crashed over me the blood from the water staining my clothes. I ran
forward seeing the horror that was unfolding before me. Bodies were everywhere
mortars and machine runs peppered the ground. A ship was on fire burning men alive
in searing heat. I marched forward with surviving men hiding behind the metal
antilanding creations and the logs.
“Private move your ass”
I stared at the person yelling at me what was happening.
“Move! Move!”
I was out of the water the bullets cascading around. Suddenly the air was driven
from my chest and i was on the ground. A bullet had hit the knife. I got up pulling the
ruined knife from the pocket over my heart. Tears flowed from my eyes, death was
knocking on my door and fear drove a stake through my heart. Then blackness. Gone
everything black. What had happened, confusion infected my mind. Then it dawned on
me i was dead. Dead, I worked so hard just for me to die months later. No revenge no
nothing. I wandered around the darkness. The emptiness of this place was crushing me.
This is my fate to wonder around infinite darkness until i came to a doorway. Curious i
opened, revealing my old house. The afternoon sun shining through the curtains. The
picture of my grandparents next to me. My family sat around the table, smiling at me.
This was to perfect, this was fake i was going crazy. Panic filled me and i turned to run
through the door but it had vanished. My father stood and looked at me and spoke
calmly,
“Roy, do you wish to view the rest of your life?”
I stared at him incredulously. I could view the rest of my life, Being able to see
what would have happened if I had lived through the war.
“Yes, Dad, but I failed you. I swore to kill every German for what they did. I can’t
pass on the knife to my son. Nothing worked out. I'm a failure.”
“You did not fail us, Roy. You made us proud.”
Tears glossed over my vision, and suddenly my vision changed. I saw my life fast
forward.The war ended, me returning home, buying a house and getting married. Now
time slowed. I was having horrible nightmares about the war, reliving the horrific events
during the war. At age 30, I had grey hair. My wife had left me. I became depressed and
isolated. Eventually, I gathered up the courage and desperation to wield the knife my father had given me. One cut on the throat later, I stopped breathing.
When I saw myself die, the shock of seeing my death scared me. What had I transformed in my search for vengeance. Internal conflict ripped my conscious. Should I have died on that wretched beach. The world spun around me, I wanted to be sick. Is it better to die and not hurt anyone or come home and watch as the world crumbles around you. The answer dawned on me, gladness befell me that I had died in the war. Bliss washed over me and then only white.
Per.5
Humanities
Shay Lopez
The Waking Hours
The clear fall September day created a nice relief from the usual rainy days this
time of year in London. I strolled down the street of Marble Arch. The bustling city street
became a challenge at this later hour. Work let out and the people pushed and shoved
to get back to the comforts of the home. I enjoyed the last bits of sunlight. The war in
Germany spread through Europe like a wildfire, consuming all in its path. Great Britain
had not been attacked yet, but it was only a matter of time. I neared my simple but
respectable house. My mother waved and smiled, in a loving motherly way, as she
collected the laundry from the laundry line. As I neared my home, the sun dropped
below the horizon.
The door creaked behind me, and my father looked up from his paperwork. He
was a store clerk. Since the war started, finances were tight. My father was even more
scrupulous with the paperwork. I flopped down into a chair, snatching up the
newspaper. The date read September 7, 1940. I wanted to see what transpired in the
war. Germany campaigned through Africa. The Allies were trying to stop the German
onslaught to little effect.
“Roy?” my father asked, “How was your day?”
“Well enough. I had a nice stroll through the park,” I replied distractedly, still
reading the paper. I turned the page. The paper displayed more warning about how to
prepare for the “coming” German attacks. When the warnings started in the newspaper,
my family had freaked out. We prepared a bomb shelter with all the essentials, food
water, and family possessions. However, by now we were confident nothing would
happen, it had been months and nothing had happen. My sister raced in, screeching to
a halt when she saw me, exclaiming,
“What’s buzzin’, cousin?”
“Not much,Melissa. I had a nice walk through town.”
She became distracted by god knows what, galloping out of the room towards
the kitchen.
Food consisted of some nicer rations than usual, some ham, potatoes, and
squash grown from the garden. As the war progressed rations become tighter and
tighter. My mother would joke about how by the end of the war there would be no more
food. God forbid. My mother was a fabulous cook and my sister a rising star. From
practically nothing those two could create a feast for kings. The table became alive with
a flurry of activity. My father and I joined the rest of the family. The food shined with a
hypothetical sheen, tantalizing my nose, with its luxurious smells, creating a waterfall in
my mouth. I tucked myself into this wonderful meal. I clasped my hands, bowing my
head. My father began the grace,
“Thank you, God, for this day. May you watch over all of us, and keep this
wretched war away. In your name we pray. Amen.”
“Amen.” echoed around the table.
We dug into the food, eager to relish the delicious meal. Small talk started and
ended, all of us more interested in the food than each other. Dinner was closing, and my
sister was getting that excited crazy look in her sparkling green eyes.
“Mom can we do it now? Can we please, please, pleaseee?” my sister cried out,
almost hysterically.
“When we finish the dishes, Sweetie,” my mother replied patiently. My sister
raced around the table, collecting all the dishes in a frenzy. The table was sparkling in a
matter of minutes. My mother took a deep breath.
“Yes, Melissa. I will go and get it.”
I looked at my father in confusion. What was going on? My mother walked in
slowly, carrying a cake. The realization dawned on me too late, as my family burst into
singing.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…,” they sang joyously. I hung my
head, completely embarrassed. I couldn’t believe they remembered. I wasn’t going to
mention it, because that would have to go out of there way to make a Birthday
celebration for me. My father looked over at me, stating, “ You thought we would forget
your Birthday, Roy.”
My sister blurted out, “Enough talk. Can we please eat the cake?”
Thats why the meal had been so nice, and why my sister was freaking out today.
The puzzle pieces clicked together. The cake was sliced and served out to each of us. I
savored each bite not expecting to have cake for quite some time. My sister on the
other hand was shoveling the cake into her mouth like there was no tomorrow. We
finished the cake and settled down in the living room. My father rummaged around his
pocket, fishing for something. He withdrew a small pocketknife, slowly handing it to me.
“My father gave this to me when I turned 14, and his father’s father. It has been
handed down for many generations. Now its your turn.” he said.
I held the knife gently in my hand, so overwhelmed and so excited. Mother
suddenly rose up.
“Off to bed, you two.”
“But Mother,” we both complained.
“No buts,” she stated.
My sister and I trudged to our bedrooms. The excitement from the day kept me
awake for a little while. I stood up from my bed and viewed myself in the mirror. A young
man stared back at me. His features portrayed a fairly plane face, brown hair with green
eyes 5’7” in height. My family was all medium height and so I followed suit, a pretty
unassuming kid. Sirens wailed, breaking the silence. I reached quickly for my
pocketknife. Thunderous sounds crashed down, shaking the house. I rushed outside
through the front door. I could see little planes up in the sky, dropping bombs. Cascading all around the thundering crashes shaking the earth. GERMANS!
People were running from their houses to see the commotion. A bomb fell about 200
yards left of our home destroying it. I ran over to see the partially destroyed house.
Fear finally shot through my system. I looked back to my home. My father was yelling
something, and I saw my mother and sister holding hands behind him. I started running
back but before i was 50 yards away, a bomb hit the front of my house. Debris and
rubble showered me, throwing me off my feet.
I landed hard, driving the wind out of my lungs. I sat up dizzily, looking over to
where my house should have been. I arose slowly, shuffling towards the wreckage.
Smoke and dust billowed all around. My throat ignited in fire. I knelt down by my house,
tears running down my dirty face. Digging through the rubble was excruciating. I found
random articles of clothing and wood. A hand came into view. I pulled at it, my dead
sister coming into view. I held her bloody body, sobbing into her battered hair. My family
lay dead, all because of me, all because of me. If I hadn't been so stupid and ran out,
things might have been different.
3 weeks later.
After my family had died, I became an orphan and a street rat. I joined a group of
other orphans, surviving with no one left. When the air raids began at night, we would
sneak into people establishments and steal their food. It went on like this for weeks. My
one goal was to survive and kill every pathetic German I laid eyes on. When I first
became an orphan, I went to the enlistment station. They took one look at me and
waved their hands away. It infuriated me to a great extent. I wanted to do my share in
the war.
The sirens wailed through the night as the air raid began. My fellow orphans and
I prowled through the alleyways, searching for an unassuming house to rob. We all
knew it was immoral, but those thoughts were pushed in the recessives of the mind. Our
first house we came upon had an unlocked door. The posse snuck through the house
and came to the freezer. This family had some money and it was blatantly shown by the
type of food they ate. The refrigerators and cabinets were full of bacon, ham,
vegetables, bread, and sweets. We stuffed our pockets with food and ran, laughing.
This family would have no idea, and we would never be caught. We ran to our shelter
on the outskirts of London, in a small hut we had built. We felt like kings as we gorged
on the meal we had stolen. On these occasions, I could almost forget my family’s death.
5 weeks later
Winter was looming right around the corner and instead of just food, we were
stealing clothes to help warm our skinny bodies. The novelty of having no parents had
worn off. We wanted a real home with parents, but that would never happen. I wanted to
join the military so badly, but I was too young. Our group was struggling to survive the
beginning of winter, but we wondered how would we survive the rest of cold nights.
3 years later
My 17th birthday meant nothing to me, because I could still not join the military.
My comrades and I were still struggling, but at least the air raids had ceased back in
May 1941. Great Britain was still struggling with holding its own in the war.
“Richard I think today is my day to join the military,” I said excitedly.
“I don’t know, Roy. The officers might recognize you,” he replied solemnly.
“Nah, it’s been 6 months since I tried enlisting last time.”
“Alright, I won't hold you back.”
“You’re just sad I'm leaving,” I stated.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I will miss you, Richard,” I said, as I walked away, towards the enlistment center.
I strolled up the desk with air of confidence, an aura most adults have.
“Identification,” the lady said, her voice droning on like a typewriter.
“Here you are, Ma'am.”
She looked at me, then back again at my papers. Inside I was silently pleading
for her stamp of approval. Finally, she signed, giving me the approval to go on ahead.
Inside I was jumping for joy, but outside I strolled forward without a backward glance.
The officer said we would leave right away. Nervousness and excitement shot through
me, but I was prepared for anything. We drove in a jeep, heading towards Camp
Grissis. They thrust a uniform into my arms. I stood in the loo, pulling objects from
my pockets. A picture of my family sat charred at the corners. I had found it in the rubble
of an old house. I acquisitioned a pack of smokes and small lighter. I wrapped my hands
around my most prized possession in the world. The pocketknife had seen better days,
but it still remained in better condition than the rest of my meager possessions. I tucked
each one of these items into individual pockets. The knife lay in my breast pocket,
threatening to plunge into my heart. The picture in my other chest pocket and my
smokes at the hip. I instantly plunged through into the mix of newer requirements.
Running for miles on end, and working on gun control, I worked my body and mind to
their limits. Drive and dedication kept me going. 5:00 each morning, measly gruley
sustained our sore bodies.
Months passed, and the officers recognized my loyalty and commitment. The
days couldn’t come soon enough for me to finally kill the rotten Germans.
May 1944
I had finished basic training, although I had yet to see actual combat. I was ready
to change that. Rumors had been floating about that Britain and the United States were
going to retake France. At 5:00 a.m, the sergeant awoke us. ”Attention! We are leaving
at 08:00. We’re going to invade Normandy at Omaha Beach. Finally I was going to get
my revenge. We marched towards the trucks being shipped to the coast, and loaded up
in boats to go to Normandy. The gigantic battleships loomed over us, as we loaded
ourselves into the monstrosity.
I grew restless as the days passed, without any news of when we would attack.
The food tasted as if all they had was dead rats. I lifted the rat stew to my lips, hoping
the taste wouldn’t kill me. My company I bunked with and had been through training with
all had similar disgusted faces. I wrote in my journal, June 5, 1944, but stopped there,
not knowing what else to write. I leafed through the other pages only dates at the top of
each page nothing else. The sergeant barked at us to get up we are moving out. I
climbed down the rope ladder in boats. We were loaded up into small assault ships 10
per ship. The ships took off heading towards land, the ocean spray soaking our bodies.
A man to my left was hacking up his guts. Not sure from seasickness or from fear. Our
boat was the first one out streaking towards land. Men were shaking with fear, vomiting,
me other hand jittering with excitement. The whistle shook me back to reality the hatch
was lowered and… bamm. Bullets pelleted the front soldiers killing them instantly. I
decided to jump over the edge, other people following suit. My gun was in a plastic bag
to protect from the water . The water was streaked with blood and floating bodies
already. Waves crashed over me the blood from the water staining my clothes. I ran
forward seeing the horror that was unfolding before me. Bodies were everywhere
mortars and machine runs peppered the ground. A ship was on fire burning men alive
in searing heat. I marched forward with surviving men hiding behind the metal
antilanding creations and the logs.
“Private move your ass”
I stared at the person yelling at me what was happening.
“Move! Move!”
I was out of the water the bullets cascading around. Suddenly the air was driven
from my chest and i was on the ground. A bullet had hit the knife. I got up pulling the
ruined knife from the pocket over my heart. Tears flowed from my eyes, death was
knocking on my door and fear drove a stake through my heart. Then blackness. Gone
everything black. What had happened, confusion infected my mind. Then it dawned on
me i was dead. Dead, I worked so hard just for me to die months later. No revenge no
nothing. I wandered around the darkness. The emptiness of this place was crushing me.
This is my fate to wonder around infinite darkness until i came to a doorway. Curious i
opened, revealing my old house. The afternoon sun shining through the curtains. The
picture of my grandparents next to me. My family sat around the table, smiling at me.
This was to perfect, this was fake i was going crazy. Panic filled me and i turned to run
through the door but it had vanished. My father stood and looked at me and spoke
calmly,
“Roy, do you wish to view the rest of your life?”
I stared at him incredulously. I could view the rest of my life, Being able to see
what would have happened if I had lived through the war.
“Yes, Dad, but I failed you. I swore to kill every German for what they did. I can’t
pass on the knife to my son. Nothing worked out. I'm a failure.”
“You did not fail us, Roy. You made us proud.”
Tears glossed over my vision, and suddenly my vision changed. I saw my life fast
forward.The war ended, me returning home, buying a house and getting married. Now
time slowed. I was having horrible nightmares about the war, reliving the horrific events
during the war. At age 30, I had grey hair. My wife had left me. I became depressed and
isolated. Eventually, I gathered up the courage and desperation to wield the knife my father had given me. One cut on the throat later, I stopped breathing.
When I saw myself die, the shock of seeing my death scared me. What had I transformed in my search for vengeance. Internal conflict ripped my conscious. Should I have died on that wretched beach. The world spun around me, I wanted to be sick. Is it better to die and not hurt anyone or come home and watch as the world crumbles around you. The answer dawned on me, gladness befell me that I had died in the war. Bliss washed over me and then only white.