Memoir Of War Novels & Stories

I’ll nod when you write words you don’t mean. But in my heart, oh, in my heart—I will never forget. I’ll remember the sound of your voice on the other end of those calls. I’ll remember the way your hands shook when I caught you watching me. I’ll remember the pain in my chest, the way the world blurred, the way I almost died tonight. This isn’t love anymore. It’s war. And you don’t even know I’ve joined the battlefield. So go ahead. Keep writing on your little screen. Keep pretending you care.

Gold. Red. Beautiful. Terrible. My vision blurred immediately. Tears rolled freely down my cheeks. I did not bother wiping them away. The heat from the flames touched my skin. Yet all I felt was cold. Back in Oakwood, peace had lasted generations. Wars were stories. Legends. Distant memories. I had never truly understood loss. Never understood what war stole. Now I knew. War stole fathers. Mothers. Friends. Servants. Dreams. Laughter.

The evening breeze was gentle, carrying the fresh scent of early summer plants growing. In the courtyard below, children laughed and ran around. Elderly residents strolled leisurely. Life flowed on in its most ordinary and solid form. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air. The three months after Arya's death, which had been full of her family's scheming, were like a long, oppressive nightmare. Thankfully, I had woken up. Wounds would scab over, pain would fade, and the lessons I learned would stay with me, making me stronger and wiser going forward. Night fell, and the city lights came on. I went back inside and turned on the lights. Warm illumination instantly filled the ent

Total human wrecks, because of the choices they made. He glanced at the old Civil War cannon resting in front of Memorial Hall, wondering not for the first time if it was really still loaded, like that retired history-buff Navy prick Jack Lawrie always claimed it was. Wondering how easily, if need be, one’s head might fit in front of its gorge, and if that said head might disintegrate wholly from one’s shoulders were the huge, dormant Union beast to awaken and recoil one last roaring, deafening time—

Tonight, sleep would be elusive as the echoes of battle reverberated in their minds, a grim reminder of the fragility of life and the brutality of war. Indeed, the aftermath of the war was a brutal sight to behold. The once serene stream, now tainted with the blood of fallen warriors, flowed crimson with the weight of countless lives lost in the heat of battle. The river, once a lifeline for the surrounding lands, now mirrored the horror that had unfolded upon its banks.

All of it seems like it's a letter written to someone called Grendaline Morriet, while the author narrates to her about the war. 'Our farms have been burnt down by the wolves, and so there's not much to eat. But that hasn't weakened our spirits. We will still fight once dawn comes tomorrow, and I know we will win this someday. I wish you were here, Grenda. I wish I never let those monsters take you, and maybe we'd be weaving our hair like the good old days.' I pause, feeling tears gather in my eyes for a moment. Who is Grendaline Morriet?

Damien’s POV…. The air before war always felt heavier than the battle itself. It clung to the lungs. Sat on the shoulders. Made every breath deliberate. I stood at the front of my troops as the last of the safe-pack convoys vanished beyond the wards. The land beneath my boots trembled faintly, a constant reminder that the world itself was being wounded somewhere far beyond our sight.

Lyra was having a good time, although there weren't many women in the group, and that made many of the male rebels try to conquer Lyra. She simply rejected them politely and then continued to celebrate, which made her feel safe. In the midst of the celebration, in the forest, a rebel kept running, wanting to reach the base as quickly as possible. His abdominal pain made him think very bad things, so he needed help as soon as possible. He appeared in the middle of the celebration unexpectedly, claiming that the war had begun. Everyone was scared, but then they went to help him and ask him what had happened.

Lila could not believe that the monsters she was expecting turned out to be really sweet people. With the way his mom welcomed her from the door, one would never believe that there was truly a war going on between both families. It made her wonder if it was only her family that was keeping up the war or if the Beaumont family was just a bunch of really good actors. She was leaning towards the latter because there was no way they were going to be really sweet towards her that way.

My eyes filling with tears, the things he has had to endure and to be able to get to me here. I tell him the things I’d done to try and get to him but it seemed he knew most of my moves due to my sketchbook that Lisa had salvaged from the bombed hospital. “Your sketch book moved me. I really think you should publish it, there’s so many stories of the soilders that lost their lives, and their families would probably be so grateful to see your drawings and the things they’d said, messages for their loved one.” Carlo says, my face flushed pink. I must admit it would be quite a good idea, I know that if it were me, I’d definitely want to hear what had happened to my children or family out fighti