4) Writing About Redeployment [Categories: Life Choice, Course Reading, Re-Genre]: Please complete the following
Introduction :
The narrator returns from the military. He not only has to adjust to society but also has to deal with finding out that his dog is sick . throughout the story the narrator has flashbacks from the military , where he had to kill dogs by the end of the story the narrator has to make the decision to either take his dog to the vet or kill him hisself and he ultimately makes the decision to kill his dog himself . Re-Genre : I picked up the body and put it in my trunk. I couldn’t just leave Vicar laying there. I figured I would burry him in the back yard. As I drove home all I could think of were the memories Vicar and I shared. I was going to miss him laying in my lap as I fed him foods that he shouldn’t even be eating in the first place. The ride seemed longer than it was. Maybe it’s because I took the long way . I needed time to think. To process what I had just done. I mean surely I made the right decision but for some reason I kept thinking what if. What if that wasn’t the right decision? What if there was something else that could have been done ? In the back of my mind I question if I killed Vicar because I wanted I wanted that feeling that being in the military gave me. Sad to say, but I was comfortable there. When I got home Cheryl was in our bedroom. I could hear her crying as I entered the house. When I got to the bedroom I slowly opened the door. “It’s done” I said “so that’s it he’s gone for good ?” said Cheryl. “ Yes dear, but that was the best decision we could have made for him” I almost wasn’t sure if I was convincing Cheryl or myself. That night I laid in bed tossing and turning thinking about camp and how a part of me wished I was still there. When I’m there I don’t have to think I just react. Here all I do is think. The next morning ,we buried Vicar or should I say I buried Vicar Cheryl mostly cried she was so distrought. She wouldn’t even look at me. The next couple days were rough for me and Cheryl. Although she didn’t say it I could tell there was some resentment toward me. She didn’t say much. It seemed as if she was avoiding me. Soon the tension was too much for me. I started going to the bars with my buddies whenever I could. Then somehow “whenever I could” became every night. I used every reason I could to give myself a excuse to go out and drink. If I had a good day I’d get a drink, if I had a bad day I’d get a drink. Any reason I could find was a valid enough for me. At this point I was drinking to drown out the guilt I felt. One night I came home later than usual and boozed up. As I laid down Cheryl wispered to me “I have a confession . . . Vicar died six months ago. . .”
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Inayah CottmanThis blog is for my English Composition II course Archives
December 2017
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