An Illustrated Story

March 16, 2009 at 8:51 pm 4 comments

In humanities last week we did a brief session on narrative writing and the joy that it is. We studied oral histories, looked at illustrations down by actual war victims that had immigrated to America depicting the horrors that were witnessed in Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia and wrote our own stories of what we think might have happened based upon the pictures. It was fairly interesting actually, and I’d like to share what my team came up with for our illustration. I wish I had a link to show you the picture, but maybe you’ll get a sense of what it looked like from the story.

Here goes…

I leapt from step to step as I wandered down the stairs leading away from the house. It was a warm day that seemed to suck the land dry. Today I had to work on the crops. Taking care of the crops was a laborous task that seemed to never come to an end, but it had to be done, the family depended on it. As I aproached the bridge with the gushing waters of the river below it, I saw my brother in the distance. He was traveling by bike and heading towards the house. He had been running errands all day and no doubtedly was eager for a meal. He zoomed by without so much as a hello. This bothered me. My brother always greeted me with a friendly smile or hello. I stared at him as he frantically peddled. He slid to a stop and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Run, they’re coming!”

“Who’s coming?” I replied

“The airplanes- they’re destroying everything!”

In the distance the loud boom of a jet engine was heard soaring above the clouds. With a faint whistle and loud boom the crops burst into flame. I had to get out of there, we were under attack. At this moment a large swoop of fear came over me as I noticed neighboring houses destroyed and covered in huge plumes of smoke. I was defenseless. There was nothing that I could do to fight back. The jets came closer and closer as I watched in horror as a large bomb started heading straight for my brother and I.

I ran as fast as I could and dove out of the way as the bomb collided into the earth next to my original location. I couldn’t stand or move, fear bound me to the earth; but that did not matter. Where was my brother? I looked in every direction until my eyes came upon the desimated area where my brother once stood, his body lay left from the destruction next to his mangled bike. I called to him but there was no reply, I was alone. I looked up only to see my family’s home destroyed and in shambles. Why is the fighting happening, what did I do? I asked myself, but I had not time to answer my own question as I slowly fell into darkness, scared of what was to come.

When I awoke I stood up upon the river bank for a brief moment before quickly bending down to splash some of the water on my face. My eyes flashed open upon feeling the cold frigedness of the water,Β  and I looked around at what only moments before had been a calm peaceful morning. Smoke rose in dark gray clouds from the ground where fire was slowly devouring the village. I watched with a heavy heart as I saw the homes of my friends burning away to nothing, and saw my friends, some dead some struggling like me to make it away from the wreckage and find solace on the opposite side of the river.

The town had been completely destroyed, but the fields remained in their perfect charred straight rows, as if mocking the disorder and chaos that existed a mere hundred yards away.

I forced myself to move away from the water, dragging the wet burlap bag with me in an attempt to control the fires burning wildly all around. In a daze, I realize that some sort of system has been set up- a chain of people connecting the town to the river. People are running back and forth between the two places. Some have collapsed onto the ground adn don’t move even when water is sloshed upon their faces. They are dead. Children, mothers, fathers, friends, all of them are dead. Those that remain in their wake continue to try and pick up the pieces of wreckage and create anew, but each day more and more stories of want and destruction will whisper fear into my heart. We will never be free of this fear. The communist rebels say that they want only to create a better life for the people- that together we will be equals and stronger as a result, but I don’t believe this. nor do I believe the patriots and puppets of the King that talk of how life does not need to change, how it in fact can remain the same as it always has.

They are all liars. Both promised to protect us, and yet ravage our cities with bombs, bully our people into meeting their supply needs, and kidnap children to meet an early death.

It makes me sick to think these thoughts and I fight to resist the hurling sensation in my gut to no avail. I watch my breakfast, eaten so peacefully under the apple trees in the orchard that morning return, and think of how much can change in a few short hours.

I will help the men put out these fires, and we will salvage what we can from the wreckage- for what else can we do? In the battle between a lion and a tiger, the mouse is only the prize to be won.

So as you can probably tell, this was written by three different authors. One of them is me, and the other two are guys in my humanities class. It’s not really edited at all, but I still think it’s an interesting piece of narrative. At least worth posting. I hope you enjoyed it, however dismal it may be, and comments are totally welcome as usual πŸ˜€


Entry filed under: Culture, High School, Personal, Thoughts, Writing.

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4 Comments Add your own

  • 1. Maya  |  March 16, 2009 at 9:09 pm

    Heh, yeah, I could tell it wasn’t only you writing this. πŸ™‚ I think I’m pretty good at such things.

  • 2. Danielle  |  March 16, 2009 at 9:13 pm

    Well the real question is can you tell which parts of it that I did write? πŸ˜€

  • 3. Q  |  March 17, 2009 at 7:19 am

    I was so confused at first, because I didn’t realize that two other people had written it. You wrote the last part. The grammar is best.

  • 4. Priya  |  March 17, 2009 at 5:28 pm

    Agree with Q. But the narrative is very interesting.

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