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[Jpec07]

So I just wrote this as part of an application for a position on another forum. If you guys wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate if you read it and gave any constructive criticisms you can think of. It was based on the linked source image. Thanks in advance!
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Source Image.

The year was 1917. President Woodrow Wilson with his great oratory skill had talked the Senate into declaring war on Germany mere months earlier. So many people had thought they were going to be able to avoid this war. Many had parents who were still scarred from the Civil War—parents who so desperately wished that their children would be spared this agony. But War is a persistent bitch. A month after the war declaration, Congress passed the Selective Service Act, in one swoop destroying any dreams this generation had for peace.

It was the beginning of the end. The military would take the heart and mind of any eligible man it could get its hands on. Families that had struggled to regain peace after the last war were about to be ripped apart once again. Fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers would be forced to enlist and fight the corruption that seemed worlds away. Major James O’Brien sighed as he walked down the bustling street; a world without war was a dream, not a reality. This generation, as with so many generations past, would taste the cruel sting of the battlefield.

The Major himself was no stranger to battle. He had enlisted to honor his father’s wishes, and had been stationed in the Philippines until the conflict had ended. He had only been home two years, and once again his nation was calling upon him. A letter from his worrisome mother carried with it the frustration he felt over these constant struggles. There hadn’t been time to meet a nice girl and settle down as they both wished, and soon he worried he might be too old. While being a bachelor gave him certain advantages in combat, the battle he faced with his own desire to court and marry was more fierce than any Filipino’s rage.

It was a rage he almost shared, albeit quietly. Like so many others, he was discontent at the thought of American involvement in this European conflict. He had served his time, and had been looking forward to honorable discharge so he could take over the family business. But this war had changed that. A flash of bitterness raced through his eyes as he glanced to the figure that stood tall over this crowded city square. The goddess of war there stood over her faithful servants, forever emblazoned in the eyes of all who passed. Her arm was upraised, calling the troops to arms to fight for home and hearth. But with so much war, there was no time to find anything worth fighting for. Maybe that was the reason for his discontent: all this fighting had no reason for him. The goddess, as strong and encouraging as she was, could not give him something to protect. She just told him to fight, and for that, she was a bitch.

His hat’s wide brim shielded his eyes from the bright afternoon sun, and even allowed him to glance down the road. So many people lined the streets, each one going about their business, each one doing the best they could to keep the same thoughts as his out of their minds. Some ate and drank with the company they so loved to distract them from the crushing reality that it was all about to fall apart. Some shopped. Some smoked. Men of business rode in their cars while they still could. Women ran about on errands: some picking up various odds and ends to keep the apartment tidy for when their men came home; some merely buying clothing or other parcels of vanity. All of it was a distraction, though. No one wanted to face the blinding light that once again, it was all about to fall apart.

As O’Brien walked and studied the crowds, there was one fellow who stood out from among them. A lad no older than twelve sat on the concrete steps of the Cadillac Hotel. He was no concierge: that gentlemen stood a few feet down the sidewalk in a lazy attention, waiting for the next big guest to arrive. This boy, though, gave no credence to the man or to the patrons he so eagerly awaited. Unlike most children his age, there was no smile on his face. His eyes showed that they wished to cry, had they any more tears. But instead he simply sat, quietly watching the crowds pass him by.

“What’s wrong, son?” James said, his businesslike gait coming to a slow halt in front of the child. He already knew the answer.

“Nothin’,” he replied, looking up to the older man in his military uniform, “nothin’ at all.” It was a lie, and they both knew it.

“War’s not a friendly thing,” the Major responded after letting the city’s cacophony reign a moment, “you mind if I sit?”

“Ain’t my steps,” the boy retorted simply, looking away. For a few minutes, the two simply sat, the sounds of life playing out before them distracting them from the conversation.

“No, War is an ugly beast,” he continued after a moment, his gaze having settled once again on the statue that reigned over the square, “and she always shows up when we don’t want her to, always takes the things we treasure most.” By this point, a fresh stream had begun to flow from the boy’s eyes, though he didn’t sob. He’d hit the nail right on the head.

“Why does she take what isn’t hers?” the boy asked, his gaze also fixed on the falsified triumph that capped the city’s hub.

“Who can say?” O’Brien answered, “I often ask the same question.” He’d seen his friends die at the hands of War; held them in his arms as she sucked the life from their veins. It was a wanton cruelty.

He hadn’t noticed, but the boy was now looking at him. His eyes said it all: War was taking his family away. Whether it was his brother, his father, or both, the bitch had laid claim to his role models. And he hated her for it. Hell, the Major just about hated her too, even though he had volunteered to be her slave.

“Why keep fighting, then,” the child petitioned, his voice broken, “why not stop the beast in its tracks and end the fighting?”

“Maybe that’s why we fight,” James replied softly, the words sinking in as he spoke them, “we fight so that no one will ever have to fight again.” He smiled as he shifted his view from the boy to the sidewalk, “this is the War to End All Wars, after all.” At this, the boy stood.

“Promise me you’ll protect him,” he said, wiping the tears on his sleeve, “my older brother, I mean.”

“I will,” Major O’Brien swore, “and I promise you won’t have to go through this again.” He would make sure that his dream became reality.

Moments passed, the sun having etched a few degrees further through the sky. Without another word, the two parted. The following year, O’Brien fell on a grenade to save his platoon—which included the boy’s brother—in the trenches in Europe. Twenty six years after that, the boy who he’d met took a round to the skull in the invasion of Normandy and was killed instantly. He left behind a wife and two children. War is a cruel, persistent bitch.

[beyonder]

tl;dr

*kicks jpec in the balls and leaves*
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[Jpec07]

I'm astounded at the laziness of this forum's administration. It's only 1200 words for goodness' sake! <_<

[Its_The_Sneak!!!]

it was depressing. Change the ending.

One thing We can't stand is when an author goes out of his or her way to kill off characters. When We write stories, We don't spend the last paragraph writing about how each character involved died several decades in the future. That's terrible.

As for your writing style, well... here We are and there it is. Not much else to be said about it. You saw the movie, didn't bother reading the book.


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