October 27, 1854

• Libby Mcaneney, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2012

Someone blundered... but we continued to the middle of hell.
The cannons fired... yet we went straight for them.
Death is on the horizon... however we ventured on as one.
Breathe in... Breathe out... Breathe in... Breathe out... Together we moved forward to our destiny... to our duty, one stride... Two strides... three strides. My heart pounded against my chest as we made our way to the jaws of death. The sword, that had soon become my closest friend, bumped against the chestnut horse catching the top of my thigh one last time before I drew the silver sabre. Four strides... Five strides... Six strides... Clash!
Surviving the battle was astonishing. I couldn’t believe, that I survived but my other mates didn’t... That I was able to return home to my loved ones, yet they could not. Leaving the battlefield I couldn’t face them, even though they were dead. Guilt and anger swelled within me as the survivors... Remainders dashed away from our noble friends, from the mouth of hell.
Retreating to our camp site, my opponents faces flashed before my eyes and the sounds of cannons echoed in my ears. The real meaning of war slackened my grasp. The point of my being here faded and was replaced with a longing of home, of freedom, of a “Get out of War free card”.
No matter how many times they reiterated the fact that we were doing this for our country and to picture our loved ones in anytime of doubt, I could see no light at the end of the tunnel. It was pitch black.

* * *

Sorting through my father’s belongings is one thing I have put off for months now. I never thought I’d come across his war belongings. He always said to me that he had nothing of the war; it was in his past as it should be. No matter how many times I’d ask questions he’d never answer them.
Discovering this box containing his uniform, Battalion flag and his journals I realised why. Why he kept me in the dark. The challenges he faced and the near death experiences I read about would leave me awake all night thinking and trying to imagine myself in that situation. But I could not put myself in his position.
It was then that I realised my father was a remarkable man. His journals explore his thoughts and feelings throughout the war and I finally see the softer, yet pained side of him, the side I longed to know.
My father was an honourable, loving and protective man and I am proud to say he is my father.