All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
As the clouds of dark gray smoke billow over the horizon, and sirens are hears in every city around, no one in the United States is sure what to expect.
“Sara! Sara! Where are you? Sara!” I scream. Oh no the kids! “Evan! Courtney! Are you hurt? Can you hear me?” My mind wanders aimlessly as I search through the debris I used to call my neighborhood.
“Sir, sir, are you okay?” A man is saying. I can’t quite make out his shape, everything is getting hazy.
As my eyes adjust to the luminescent light above me, I realize I’m lying in a hospital bed. As I go to search for the call button to figure out what the hell happened, a sharp pain runs through my left side. I look down to see what the cause of it is, and I see nothing but bandages. As I am processing this a nurse walks in.
“Why hello there, you have been out for quite some time now, 3 weeks I suppose. How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice melodious.
“What happened to my arm?” I ask, fearing and bracing for the worst.
“The doctor will be in shortly to talk to you about that, but for now is there anything I can get you?” she asks.
“No thank you,” I manage to say fighting back tears. I take a look at her, she seems no older than 15. Her long blonde hair, frizzy all around, pulled into a bun. She seems exhausted; it must have been a long day.
No sooner did she walk out, did the doctor walk in. “Hello there Mr. Winkler. How are you feeling?” he asks with a tired voice.
“Well doc, I have no idea what happened to my arm, no clue who the hell you are, no guess to where i’m at, or where my family is, how should I feel?” I answer angrily.
“You are at Mercy Hospital in Rochester New York. Your arm was gone when they found you. We believe the bomb hit close to your home and something came and ripped it off. Your adrenaline was pumping so you didn’t feel it.”
“Bomb!” I scream.
“Yes sir, the United States is in war with Iraq. That is not the worst news though; the president has turned against the country. We are losing freedom as we speak,” he said as he started to cry. Everything I thought was so important before is now minute. How could my life change this fast? “Sir, also, the remains of your family were found, they were buried two weeks ago. I’m so sorry for your loss,” he adds.
“Those no good egotistical jerks! They’ve taken everything from me; my family, my home, my arm!” I yell angrily.
“I understand and I truly am sorry but I need to get to my other patients. All the major hospitals have no electricity so we are packed. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He swiftly scurries away, and once again I am left with nothing. I feel tears running down my face, and i’m not quite sure I want to stop them.
It seems as if hours have passed, but when I look at the clock it has only been 20 minutes, I reach for the TV remote to learn more about this war we have entered, and that sharp pain shows up again, except this time it is nothing compared to the emotional pain I am feeling.
“Today in the news, hundreds dead after a suicide bomb went off in Chicago.” I hear the TV reporter say. I listen on. “It has now been two weeks into the war and thousands are dead, area hospitals are struggling to survive, and people are trying to find safer places to live.” So horrible I think to myself. How could this happen to the land of the free? A thought passes my mind for but a second, I don’t have to live through this. What a crazy thought, it must be the morphine.
Hours pass as I lie there and listen. The nurse comes in again; I now see her name is Emma. “How are you feeling Mr. Winkler?” she asks, her singsong voice from before now raspy.
“I can’t believe this, war, hate, death, it’s a lot to take in,” I answer.
“Yes sir it is. I was drafted to be a nurse once my parents died,” she calmly said, a tear forming in her blue diamond eyes.
“I’m so sorry to hear that Emma,” I say.
“It’s not so hard now that I have something to keep me busy. If there’s not anything I can get for you, I do need to be going,” she states.
“Okay, come talk to me anytime. Goodbye,” I say. That night I couldn’t sleep, there was so much going through my head.
The doctor comes in the next morning with a new nurse. “Where is Emma?” I ask curiously. The doctor drops his head and replies:
“Last night Emma was fatally shot while walking home, and she was pronounced dead this morning. I can’t believe it, everything and everyone is dying. Slowly the Iraqis are taking control of everyone just like Hitler and the Jews. That odd thought comes back to mind, why should I live through this when I have nothing to live for? The doctor and the nurse leave, and I am left alone to think about things.
I turn on the news, now it’s mainly repeats of prior extremes. More and more people are dying. I can’t handle anymore. I go to take a walk around the hospital. I now see the full damage and toll on everybody. There are people dead or dying in the hallways, doctors sleeping everywhere, always on call. I hear someone call “take cover!” I look around confused, “What is happening?” I scream so loud, a roaring engine in the midst of it all.
Next day on the news, “No survivors were found in yesterdays bombing at Mercy Hospital in Rochester New York. War is still raging on, and it looks like they win.”