This is my very first attempt at writing a story; i have never written anything except school reports and classroom notes. so this is fairly
difficult. anyway, i want feedback and i want to see if im any good. if the replies are good, i might even make chapter 2.
This is a story about a russian citizen named Josef Yurinovwho got cought up in WWII when Germans attacked his village.
Journal Of A Soldier
Journal Entry, January 4, 1943
Happy Birthday. This is the best present a man could ever have. Why did this happen on my birthday? On my day? On the day I was supposed to turn twenty-nine years old, the day I was to propose, I was supposed to take her to America for a honeymoon. Yet on this exact day, the one that would define my life, they attacked us. At the moment, I was reading in my bedroom when I heard a rumbling in the distance. I looked at my clock. The time was 0:30: half past one in the morning. Our entire village used military time. After the war it was useless to re-learn standard time. I peeked out of the window and saw a group of men marching towards our village. It was hard to see clearly, but it looked like they had weapons. I quietly loaded up my Mosin-Nagant rifle. It was beginning to get out of date, compared to the Americans' M1 or Thompson Smg. It even seemed obsolete compared to the Russian PPSH, which was much older than my rifle. But that was all I had and as my father said, "if you cannot pick the new grain, settle for the old." I am sorry. I would love to finish this up, but the platoon leader is calling us out.
January 5, 1943
We had a training mission yesterday. When I was finished I was too tired to write so I would finish the next day. As I was saying, I was in my room, watching the soldiers approach our village. When they came into the light, they were our own Russian soldiers. I was about to feel relief, until they began firing rounds off into the air screaming things like, "Wake up! The Germans are coming to kill you all! Gather your weapons and hide your children!" As I watched them warn the village, I was blown off of my feet when a tank shell obliterated half of the platoon. As I hit the floor, my rifle discharged and shattered the remains of my window. I was lucky the tank shell came; a German sniper had just missed a shot at my head when I fell. As I got up, the sniper crashed down the front door of my one story house and found his way to my room. It was pitch black. I could barely see him (her?) but I could hear the sniper's ragged breath. I could recognize the sound of him(or was that a female?) lifting up my bed. I knew where the sniper was: on the other side of the room. Then my heart sank when I heard him unloading my rifle. I thought I would surely die. I felt a sharp pain in my hand and saw the faint glimmer of a metal object lying on the floor. I figured out what it was: a butcher knife. I did not have enough time to think. I simply grabbed the knife and ran up to him/her and let out an enormous cry. The sniper turned around and instead of the knife going in his/her back as I intended, I stabbed it into his eye. Blood sprayed all over me. I was sickened, disgusted. I had never killed a man or a woman before, and definitely not in such a gruesome way. I could not look. I only felt around, my hand sliding through the puddle of blood, my other hand covering my eyes. After what felt like ages, I found my rifle and my ammunition. I didn't reload it in my room, for fear of seeing that eye roll on the ground. I left my room and reloaded in the kitchen. I had run out of my house to check up on my family and I was caught by the Russian general and I was stuck. I was in the army for good, fighting to defend mother Russia.