Historical Fiction Draft

This is incomplete. I just need some help from you guys -

Shariful Khan

I.S.230

12/16/10

801

Historical Fiction

Draft One

“It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death all things appear fair. But when dogs shame the gray head and gray chin and nakedness of an old man killed, it is the most piteous thing that happens among wretched mortals.”

-Homer, The Iliad

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Untitled

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War.

It's not an easy concept to understand, but the definition of it, to me, hasn't changed in the nineteen years of my existence. I have always believed it to be something horrifying, something that shouldn't ever be considered, not even as a final option. War is an irredeemable action, one caused by the natural essence of hatred and greed within every man and every woman. War destroys lives, causes families to tear themselves apart.

To me, war hasn't ever changed. Like so many others, I am opposed to it. But to the rest of world, we are merely flies. Buzzing flies that irritate them, but do nothing to stop them. I want to one day change the way of thinking for the citizens of the world, make them realize how spoiled and comforted they are. War is necessary, I'll give you that. War is required, I'll give you that too. War is needed to change the world, and war is needed to create progress. I'll let you win those battles.

But war is inhumane. I will take that victory.

My name is Nicholas Harris, age nineteen. The date is January 4, 1965. The Vietnamese War is in full swing, along with the Cold War. The world is slowly being destroyed, through the hatred and greed of men. Men are dying, they are experiencing the cold touch of death right this very moment. The terrible thing is, they have lives. They are not statistics, like some of us believe. They are real people, with real lives, with real families.

And right now, in the country of Vietnam, they are being shot down. They are being thrown to the ground, coughing up blood, and seeing white spots at the edges of their vision. They are realizing that suddenly, their hands feel clammy and sweaty. They are realizing that there is a burning sensation going on throughout their entire body.

They are realizing, that they are dying.

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“...Harris!”

I opened my eyes blearily, staring into the irate eyes of my professor, Dr. Vans Hummheir, a professor from Germany who had arrived in California around seven years ago to teach History at Stanford University. He was accepted immediately, and although the staff said it was due to his teaching ability, many students had heard from alumni that the school that the school had a much larger budget that year than they had in previous years... but enough of my rambling, let's return to reality.