"A Soldier's Story"
Jerome Lewis
Northwood Middle PTA
Taylors, SC
A Soldier's Story
Brent Owens had not been so exhausted since being deployed to Baghdad. He felt the sun beating down on him through his heavy camouflage uniform. He had been sent to deliver a message to another camp ten miles away. Brent had walked for about an hour and was entering a desolate looking village. Nothing was there except for blown out buildings and rubble. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure run behind a pile of broken bricks. He was immediately alert as he pulled out his gun. All of the sudden, he heard a loud crack and felt a sting as great as a thousand hornets. He fell to the ground and cried out in agony. He had been shot. He pulled out his walkie-talkie and weakly called for help.
Brent's blurred eyes opened, not knowing where he was. He tried to sit up, but the painful gash in his chest made it impossible. A doctor walked in and explained that the medics had found Brent about three miles from camp. He introduced himself as Doctor Franklin. Doctor Franklin said that they were going to perform surgery to get the bullet out. He also said that it was a dangerous operation, because the bullet was lodged very close to a main artery. He assured Brent that he had performed similar surgeries many times before. Three surgeons walked in ready to assist with the operation. Doctor Franklin took out a mask and placed it gently over Brent's face. He told him to relax and think about his favorite place.
Brent felt the cool autumn air against his face as he stepped out of the cab. He walked toward the door, his feet crunching on dry leaves and acorns. He saw his dog running up and down the fence barking excitedly. The squirrels scampered around in the trees, as the smoke from the fireplace billowed into the air. He hurried up the steps and knocked excitedly on the door. When his parents answered the door, his mom started sobbing in joy. His dad was a big man, but even he couldn't hold back tears.
Inside seemed so peaceful and roomy. The aroma of pumpkin pie filed the air. Brent's mom had been cooking a big meal of turkey, stuffing, cranberries and creamy mashed potatoes. He hadn't had a sit down meal in what seemed like centuries. While they ate, Brent told his parents about all his adventures over in Iraq, and they told him about everything that had gone on in America. They laughed and cried together until late that evening.
As Brent walked up the stairs, he heard a familiar squeak in the seventh step. He stopped, bounced up and down on it, and smiled. When he walked into his room, he saw his baseball uniform still hanging on the bedpost, exactly where it had been when he left. Outside the window, Brent saw the stars twinkling in the evening's darkness. The full moon cast its light on the wooden swing set that he'd once played on. He turned out his light and burrowed under his covers. He was comfortable for the first time in months. As he drifted off to sleep, Brent knew that home would always be his favorite place.
Doctor Franklin sadly looked down at Brent's motionless body on the operating table. There was a heavy silence in the room. He sighed as he wrote down on his clipboard,
"Private Brent Owens - time of death - 2:57 PM."
Jerome Lewis
Northwood Middle PTA
Taylors, SC
Brent Owens had not been so exhausted since being deployed to Baghdad. He felt the sun beating down on him through his heavy camouflage uniform. He had been sent to deliver a message to another camp ten miles away. Brent had walked for about an hour and was entering a desolate looking village. Nothing was there except for blown out buildings and rubble. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure run behind a pile of broken bricks. He was immediately alert as he pulled out his gun. All of the sudden, he heard a loud crack and felt a sting as great as a thousand hornets. He fell to the ground and cried out in agony. He had been shot. He pulled out his walkie-talkie and weakly called for help.
Brent's blurred eyes opened, not knowing where he was. He tried to sit up, but the painful gash in his chest made it impossible. A doctor walked in and explained that the medics had found Brent about three miles from camp. He introduced himself as Doctor Franklin. Doctor Franklin said that they were going to perform surgery to get the bullet out. He also said that it was a dangerous operation, because the bullet was lodged very close to a main artery. He assured Brent that he had performed similar surgeries many times before. Three surgeons walked in ready to assist with the operation. Doctor Franklin took out a mask and placed it gently over Brent's face. He told him to relax and think about his favorite place.
Brent felt the cool autumn air against his face as he stepped out of the cab. He walked toward the door, his feet crunching on dry leaves and acorns. He saw his dog running up and down the fence barking excitedly. The squirrels scampered around in the trees, as the smoke from the fireplace billowed into the air. He hurried up the steps and knocked excitedly on the door. When his parents answered the door, his mom started sobbing in joy. His dad was a big man, but even he couldn't hold back tears.
Inside seemed so peaceful and roomy. The aroma of pumpkin pie filed the air. Brent's mom had been cooking a big meal of turkey, stuffing, cranberries and creamy mashed potatoes. He hadn't had a sit down meal in what seemed like centuries. While they ate, Brent told his parents about all his adventures over in Iraq, and they told him about everything that had gone on in America. They laughed and cried together until late that evening.
As Brent walked up the stairs, he heard a familiar squeak in the seventh step. He stopped, bounced up and down on it, and smiled. When he walked into his room, he saw his baseball uniform still hanging on the bedpost, exactly where it had been when he left. Outside the window, Brent saw the stars twinkling in the evening's darkness. The full moon cast its light on the wooden swing set that he'd once played on. He turned out his light and burrowed under his covers. He was comfortable for the first time in months. As he drifted off to sleep, Brent knew that home would always be his favorite place.
Doctor Franklin sadly looked down at Brent's motionless body on the operating table. There was a heavy silence in the room. He sighed as he wrote down on his clipboard,
