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Wounded by a fascist sniper essay


wounded by a fascist sniper essay

quickly puts his cigarette out and switches place. The leaves of the silver poplars which, in places, fringed our trenches brushed against my face; I thought what a good thing it was to be alive in a world where silver poplars grow. 'The artery's gone I thought. The American sentry I had been talking to had started forward. But all the while the pain in my arm was diabolical, making me swear and then try not to swear, because every time I breathed too hard the blood bubbled out of my mouth. We had set up a rifle-rest in the ditch. There seemed to be a loud bang and a blinding flash of light all round me, and I felt a tremendous shock-no pain, only a violent shock, such as you get from an electric terminal; with it a sense of utter weakness, a feeling.

Not only is killing another person going to stay in this mans mind, but he murdered his brother, his own flesh and blood. Two militiamen on leave, whom I had met my first week at the front, came in to see a wounded friend and recognized. I wondered how long you last when your carotid artery is cut; not many minutes, presumably.

After escaping death, you experience a feeling like no other, a mix between adrenaline and being in a state of shock. The moment you do it, you know that you will never forget. Figuring out who the sniper is and trying to get to the bottom of the case is the author's purpose. They had just got me on to the stretcher when my paralyzed right arm came to life and began hurting damnably. It was only now that it occurred to me to wonder where I was hit, and how badly; I could embryo law essay feel nothing, but I was conscious that the bullet had struck me somewhere in the front of the body. That experience will stick with you for the rest of your life and leave you emotionally scared. You're alive, are you? I thought, too, of the man who had shot me- wondered what he was like, whether he was a Spaniard or a foreigner, whether he knew he had got me, and so forth. At nights we patrolled as usual-more dangerous than it used to be, because the Fascist trenches were better manned and they had grown more alert; they had scattered tin cans just outside their wire and used to open up with the machine-guns when they heard.

I was talking to the sentries preparatory to changing the guard. Everything was very blurry.

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