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A Funeral - This story is of a funeral, a funeral of a martyr. One who laid his life on the battlefield for his country

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A Funeral? ________________ This story is of a funeral, a funeral of a martyr. One who laid his life on the battlefield for his country. The story revolves around the time when the first Gulf War plagued the country of Iraq. It revolves around a solitary character, Zack Indy, also a soldier, whose friend meets his end in this mortal power struggle, and how he sees the funeral of his comrade? (This story is a fictitious piece.) 26 February 1991, a dark day? A very dark day? From the corner of my right eye, I spotted black clouds rolling towards us with thunder and cold water turning and rumbling in their dark bowels. I closed my eyes for a while, the image of the clouds imprinted on the back of my eyelids. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a crowd. A crowd clad in black, blissfully unaware of the storm that was brewing right above their heads. As I looked around a sense of grief and mourning impressed upon me. I again came to the same harsh realization. However, my mind could not accept it. It could not accept the fact that my best friend, no, my brother was no more? But it had to, I had to. ...read more.


Not by a long shot. We got out of the truck and, in a file with Soap in front, we marched to our camp to be quickly briefed and sent off into battle. My heart was thumping loudly, becoming louder and louder with every second, and I was afraid my heart might rip out through my chest. In 20 minutes, holding my rifle tightly, I was sitting in the back of a truck with 15 more soldiers to help another group of soldiers who were pinned down by a heavy machine gun. As the jeep revved and moved, I went over the necessary precautions that could possibly save my life. ?Always wear your helmet. Keep your head down. When the pin is pulled, the grenade is not your friend. And most important of all, the claymore is always pointed towards you.? I was just going over these, when the jeep stopped and I was jostled out with all the others. I could hear it now, the blasts and shouts, they were deafening. As soon as we got off the truck, we got cover behind a few boulders, which barely covered us from the bullets flying around us, while Captain Price gave us our orders. ...read more.


I was in a tent. I saw my friend?s body beside. Medics were leaning over him but I couldn?t see what they were doing. Then, I saw one of them shake his head and he covered his face. I again blacked out. I don?t know for how long, but my stupor was plagued with horrific nightmares of decapitated bodies, coupled with cries of pain and the feeling of helplessness. I later learned that I was out throughout the trip back home. Doctors feared I might have slipped into a comatose state, but I hadn?t. No one can sleep for long with nightmares like that. As soon as I woke up, I was informed about Soap?s funeral and I was medically discharged against the doctors? better judgment. But I had never been happier to leave that weird-smelling place. I limped over to the crowd gathered, clad in black, mournful. I made my way to the front of the crowd. I saw his grave, the tombstone embedded. On that slab of stone was engraved, ?A great son, a great brother and a brave soldier.? Tears brimmed my eyes, and I mourned the loss of my friend? It is true that no one wins in these kinds of wars. There are costs for these wars and we, soldiers, pay the price. War does not determine who is right ? only who is left. ~ Bertrand Russell (1626 words) ...read more.

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