Personal Narrative-Moucky Beach

It was almost like something out of a nightmare. A nightmare such as the ones that would force you out of bed at night and into your mother’s soft embrace. However, there was no turning back from this nightmare. We’d watched the sea around us as the waves battered the side of our boats. Some of us would get sick, our stomachs forcing what little food we’d consumed past our lips before forcing more. After a while, our bodies had nothing left to give. As we approached, we could see ships everywhere, the shore came into view as the tide rose. To those of us in the water who’d already pushed past the dead and dying being taken by the sea, we were forced down but the heavy fire by enemy lines. Bodies lay everywhere. Bobbing In the blood-soaked waves, laying on the mucky beach, and slowly sinking down into the icy depths, never to be seen again. I could hear the men around me screaming. Screaming for help as they struggled to hide in the hail storm of bullets. The wounded laying crying in pools of their our blood, begging for help as the battle pressed on. So many of us hadn’t even made it to the beach, drowning in the shallows from the weight of our own supplies. For the ones

Like thunder during a summer storm rain, but it was nothing compared to the blissful sound the storms of my childhood. We were on deaths door, waiting for it to open as we were forced farther onto the beach by the tide, and farther into the waves by the shower of bullets. It was as if my ears wouldn’t work once the ships took out the first line. A sharp ring was all that could be hear. Like a silent film, I would watch as a child with my father, but this time, I was on the screen. Everything was a blur from then on. The next thing my body registered was the firm grip of my boatmate’s hand as he pulled me up the beach. “Follow the path.” Those were the only words that made it into my ears as myself and dozens other forced our way up the beach, and towards our