Creative Writing: A Separate Peace

Kristina and Trey gathered all of their little belongings mostly caring about the lockbox containing about $3,600 of the finest mexican glass a.k.a meth. Rushing out of their little apartment as soon as possible after seeing a wanted picture in the newspaper of kristina stealing money illegally with a fake id. She thought it was odd that she had very very little remorse about getting up and leaving without saying goodbye to her baby that wouldn't even recognize her, her mom which she stole her identity and money from. It didn't phase her and she kept loading what little belongings she had into Trey's mustang. They rushed onto the snowy freeway still tweaked as usual, but exhausted from no sleep like usual and running from the police and the mexican drug lord that they owe and weren't planning on paying back.

It’s spring now and the winter was terrible let me tell you. There were 10 people dying every day from starvation or freezing to death or disease it was terrible. When we were marching there from the last battle we heard that there was going to be food there for 8 months turns out there was only food for 8 days. General Edwin and a bunch of other soldiers and commanders asked if they could leave and George had to let them go he just asked them if they would come back in the Spring ready to go. Hundreds of soldiers deserted valley Forge and went back home to their families.

As the 104th moves on from their real first test of battle, Stash is relieved he made it out of there alive. One thing for sure that this first battle taught him is always to be aware of what is around him. He told himself, just like in training, he can’t take his eye off anything from this point forward. He now knows this is real. There is no going back now.

Dear Mother, It’s has been indisputable here in the trenches, I’m in dire need of new socks. The doctors say they might have to amputate my foot if my trench foot gets any worse. Also if you could provide me with some next time you send me a package I would be beholden to you. In addition to the already gruesome situation, the rats have begun to eat the dead in no man’s land, and steal my bread when I’m not looking.

The man looked onto the battlefield close and far as the dirt landed and slid off his face the sound of bombs were muffled the cries of men were sharp and penetrating he stood over the breech with such comfort while a hundred thousand fear riddled eyes stared from behind he turned his face deep wrickled and rugged filthy his eyes with dark bags underneath from nights with no sleep but the faces he saw were much different men no more than 30 with their whole lives maybe not even 10 minutes ahead of them he's seen it a hundred times before he knew these men were divided they were there together but they were going in it alone with this in mind the man stared back and spoke "At the edge of our hope... At the end of our time... WE CHOOSE TO BELIEVE

The devastation behind the soldier stood on the edge of his mind, but nevertheless was not in his thoughts. The man standing in front of him dominated his thoughts and instigated a war deep within the soldier. The man was plain on all accounts; he was middle-aged, wore glasses, had a receding hairline, but his image was now stained in the soldier’s memory. This man merely wanted to get by, most likely to confirm the death of a loved one, but no matter how many times the soldier thought about it, he would never know exactly why. The only knowledge that burdened the soldier was his duty, and his duty was to keep this man at bay.

Through thundering guns and cannon fire; you can hear the helpless cries of the abandoned, wounded soldiers or bold attackers, storming and laughing in the face of death. Some men prayed, while others pleaded. Some men held pictures or mementos; of longed sweethearts and family before carefully tucking them away inside of their jackets, for some of their loved ones, will never be seen again

Another day was so much like the one before, and the many before that. He walked the house and grounds, slowly, letting time pass as it must. Alone, present but not present, for can one truly be there if no one knows of it? Like the saying he’d heard more than once over the unmeasured time of his existence: If a tree falls in the forest but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? He ambled through the back yard, pausing under the tree from which he’d been hanged, cursing his tormentors, vowing to haunt them for all time.

Silk coats with brass buttons gleamed in the summer sun. Gaudy colors flashed in the volunteer firemen's parade The bright red and yellow felt pressed hats like poppies and daisies in a field, each painted with elaborate insignias and company emblems. I had not seen such a pageant since the war began, when fresh faced young boys marched out to defend the Union. Some returned men, hardened and roughed by conflict, if they returned at all. Oswald, my husband, stood at my side and complained loudly about the volunteer firefighters.

That was during the hour that I was the most confused and mixed the real deaths of the soldiers with that of an imaginary private. He died in a story about WWI. Thirty-six years have passed since I stood in that darkness, which was mitigated by an outside light. Tonight, I remember the silence I shared with the dead. I rise and face my life for no other reason than I was young once like those I stood guard over, and for them who died for God knows what, I wish to give back the year 1971 along with the clouds, the rain, and the dampness, soaking my boots.

Poor Stacey. The real reason he was awake an hour before the sun rose is because he’d slept fitfully. For years, he’d successfully kept his impulses locked tight in a securely padlocked box, so he could function as man and father day in and day out. Figuratively, the box itself was hand-carved by his own hands, ornate, a valued knickknack that blended in on a shelf full of them. The box had an iron lock and solid hinges that had stood the test of time doing their job.

So long as he had been able to hold a view of things in which time was just moments, then days, each one destroying itself in the next; so long, that is, as it was a process without sequence, he could face himself and hang on. Living was vertical. You stood up new in each moment of it, and if you were strong, and luck was with you, you got from one moment to the next. It was all moments and leaps. But now he had to take on again the notion of a self that was continuous, that belonged to the past and was to have a hfe again in the future.

Henry and I, walked swiftly to the middle of the camp. I read his mind and could hear that he didn’t want to be late, just in case they punished boys for being late. Henry and I, stood side by side and waited for other boys to show up. Within five minutes, the entire field was completely full. About one hundred men equipped with electronic guns and dressed in black equipment marched around rows of boys.

"Alec Ramsay and Black Minx are out in front, five lengths ahead, AND THEY ARE UNDER THE WIRE!" the radio in the barn blared. I had just finished jumping my palomino "Above the Clouds" but I call him Cloud for short. Blackwater Ranch was owned by the Leigh's but they were at a horse show, so I was watching the ranch for them. I took my hunt seat saddle off Cloud's back then removed the saddle pad and set it out to dry.

He looks at me solemnly "Any girl of your age would have been broken by now. And not just on the inside." "Any boy your age would've been hiding under a bed by now. " I retort with a sickly grin. "I highly doubt that, but perhaps some are already in hiding."