1 of 600

Half a league, half a league,
 Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
 Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
 Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
 Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
 Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
 Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,    
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
 Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
 All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
 Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
 Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
 Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
 Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
 All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
 Noble six hundred.

Author’s Note: This poem explains what happened to a small, light brigade of only 600 soldiers. Their leader had made a mistake and sent them into the valley of death (the  battlefield) even though they had no chance. The leader didn’t know it, but the brigade did…

        “Ride on, Ride on!” roared the gallant commander, “Press the fight my brigade!”

“But it’s useless!” men scream and shout in mutiny, “We will all die!” 

“It is better to die loyal then to live a coward!” I yelled. Still shouts of opposition, but we never broke stride. You didn’t have to be clairvoyant to know that we are all doomed. The sounds of cannons and whinnies roared. I remembered a poem that I had once heard a drunken man recite before drawing his last breath; Once more into the fray, into the last good fight I’ll ever know. Live and die on this day, live and die on this day. I chanted this throughout my mind. This will be my last fight. I have lived, and now I will die. Racing through the valley the hooves thunder. We charge, until we break the line…

This is it, this is the end. Fight onward, Fight till dawn. I look to my right, and see my friend -- a 15 year young boy -- spear an enemy. Throwing his arms up in his own victory, he is shot through the chest by a dying fellow. His insides are splattered upon my face, but I must move on. Left and right, death by death, we are depleting. The stink of carrion melts the nostrils. I pull my pistol, and fire. It hits an enemy and he drops like a ton of bricks. Surely he had a family. Surely he had sons

and daughters that will mourn at his funeral. I don’t take it as a heroic act. I killed men and destroyed families with mere bullets. I changed history with the movement of a finger. For better or for worse? No one will know. At least none of the six hundred.

 Snapping of gunfire and the screeches of men split the foggy noon air, and still we ride. The guns roaring, and earth flying, and still we ride.  The blood spraying and hope losing, and still we ride. Cannons hit home, torn to pieces, we no longer ride……

Sudden Stop

Author's Note: This is a sudden fiction piece based off the black and white picture we were shown a while ago.

A man stands, looking at all of the rushing people inside Grandview train station in New York. This whole world seems rushed to him. He wonders where the peoples’ journeys will take them. Soon, he wonders about his own life. Where will I go in this lifetime? Who will I meet? What is my purpose? While deep in a twisting thought of human existence, a man bumps into this lost soul.

            “Sorry,” he said apologetically.

            “That’s alright,” replied the young, confused man. When the rushing body passes, he realizes that the man hand  handed him something. It was a briefcase.

            “Excuse me sir!” he yelled, but it was no use. The building was packed with people, and he was long gone. He wandered the building for a while, and found a bench. He sat down, and examined the briefcase. It was a steel latching briefcase with no lock. I guess there’s nothing left to do but open it….

            “Click…. Cli-BOOOM!” went the briefcase, incinerating all in its path.