A story of the Cuban revolution

April 10, 2012
My name is Raul Martinez, and I had fought in a revolution. Well, when I was just 20 years old, a revolution had began between the leader of Cuba, and those who defied his rule. I was one such person. A man named Fidel Castro had decided to lead one such revolt. He had already earned the respect of many other men, and seemed to have an advantage of the Cuban soldiers. At one point he arrived in Mexico, collecting those who wished to fight on his side when he returned to Cuba. He has more than earned my respect, he had earned my loyalty. I had decided to sail with him and the others on an old ship back to Cuba. Against my family's wishes I had gone into a battle that would have surely killed me in a distant land. I had my own rifle, reasonable gear, and even a new pair of boots that were all given to me to help support Fidel Castro’s dreams for Cuba. As I had stepped onto that ship, feeling like the most powerful man in the world, knowing I was leaving my own home behind to fight for another, I knew I was in for an ordeal. I was correct. The trip was a long one, and we were exhausted by the time we reached Cuba.
It seemed we hadn’t been there long on the great island before we were ambushed by bullets. Several of us fell instantly, others scattered and returned fire. For fear of my life I brought my rifle up and shot three of the enemy soldiers I could see. I quickly turned and fled into the thick ferns. As I ran I had tripped over something. I was in a thick haze and couldn’t pull myself out, so I just layed there and hoped the soldiers wouldn’t find me. Moments passed and automatic gunfire faded so I gained my courage and looked up. I glanced to my side to find a dying comrade, the very same one that I must have tripped on when I fled. He was only in his late 20’s it seemed, and yet here he lay dying on the field of battle. As I crouched over him the only thing he did as he looked up at me, was put a large, glistening knife in my hand. His eyes suddenly closed and I never got to learn his name, but his message was clear. He obviously wanted me to avenge his death with the very blade that he had laid in my hand.
I had began my walk through the thickness of the land around me. It was stuffy and I was
exhausted. I had been pursuing where I had thought Fidel and his men had gone, but little did
I know I had been going far from the direction I should have been. The man's knife remained in my hand, ever shining in the setting sun. It really was an amazing knife, it was sharp, durable, but at the same time is was very lightweight. I bent down to slip the knife in my boot and then I felt a thud.
My concentration had been quickly broken none the less, as I examined the beauty of the
knife I had wandered onto the edge of the forest where five Cuban soldiers had been standing
near. I had been shot immediately in the shoulder and my reflexes told me to run. Nearby
there was an old cobblestone home, and I was closer than the enemy Soldiers. My body
began to move as swift as I could towards the house with all of my might, the ever presence
of bleeding was constantly reminded by a sharp crack of a bullet hitting a tree I had just
passed. I dove through a door into the home. I laid there for a few moments as bullets smacked into the cobblestone walls, shattering them to dust. I pulled my rifle over to the window and fired it in the general direction they were standing. To no avail my gun had used the last of its ammunition. I held the dead man’s knife close to my chest, hoping that it would save me, but rather it gave me an idea. I pushed myself from the wall and fled through the back door, I ran deep into the forest and lay there with nothing but that shining knife. I waited there as the enemy soldiers ran past my position, then I followed suit swiftly behind one of them who was running slower than the rest. No doubt to catch me if I was to run behind those who had just passed. In moments I was upon him with the knife high above my head. The poor man I had seen, a fallen Comrade, had his revenge that was so evident in his eyes. I ran as fast as I could until I finally had found Fidel Castro and my comrades again.





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