Grasping his gun in a fury, amongst the horizon, amongst the glare, was no man, but a shadow as a pillar amongst the wall in a sun stained metropolis of ruin. Towering over the rubble of a battle their brothers fought for them, was a meaningless quarrel of hatred caused by the labors of evil. In this chaos of gunfire, sat I, across the field, silently whispering to myself that my enemy was no man, and in a display of cowardice I repeatedly echoed them throughout my mind as I planted my back against the wall. ...I kill only an animal and I give it death as a mercy from my spite. This was no man, he is a demon: the strength of my trigger, the source of my pain, the killer of my comrades and my friends. Despite all this, I still struggle amongst the grasps of my own humanity, only to see that he too was hesitant as we were peaking our heads out from under the cover of shrapnel, jerking back in reflex to distant gunfire; with being too entrenched in fear to realize we would be dead before we could even hear such a godsend of a warning. The sound of thundering gunfire can echo for miles, but the speed of a bullet can outrun even the fastest voice, like warnings falling on ears of a corpse frozen in time.
Swirling in dust and confusion was a moment I couldn't understand; here we were forced into conflict with men we have never met over the ideals of not of nations, but of men. Sitting across from me was a man who understood the same, only to have myself be told that he was my enemy and not my friend. I ponder as to whether or not this man would've been my friend had I met him in another time, but I'm entrapped in the paranoia that at anytime he may attack. For the longest time was a silence, and in echos of distant fighting interrupted a voice that screamed “Không bắn! Không bắn,” from under the cover, and slowly the man raised his arms, “Tôi đầu hàng,” he cried once more. I dared not lift my head for fear it was a trap, his words a distraction for I knew not their meaning, but upon hearing the rustling of gravel from underneath his feet I knew he was out from cover and from top my lungs I yelled “STAY BACK,” too locked in fear to even take my back off the wall. I heard the crunch of his feet, the crackling of stone as he slowly inched his way over as he whimpered “Vui lòng... Tôi không muốn chiến đấu nữa...”
Struggling to find the words the Vietnamese man finally uttered, “N-No fight. Surrender,” the second repeat interrupted by his sudden stumble. A rocketing echo from afar, followed by the clash of his knees to the soil, whispering under his breath, the words “Sorry.”
Just a draft so far... It's for a creative essay for my college writing class, and I'd like to add more when I get the time; I would really appreciate some feedback.