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The main visiting card of Muynak in Karakalpakstan is, of course, the old ship port, where the ship graveyard is located. During the World War II, soldiers from all over Uzbekistan came to this port across the Amu Darya River, and from there they boarded ships and headed to the city of Aralsk in Kazakhstan, from where they were transported to the front by trains and other means of transport. In this old harbor there is a monument, the top of which points towards the sky. Today the monument is considered a monument to the sea and port, but it was originally built to commemorate the soldiers who died in World War II and was called the Flying Star. The residents of Muynak remember very well the impressive event that led to the construction of this monument. This story is like this: In 1941, when the war began, a father and his only son from the same house in Muynok were called to the front. Aksary mother was left at home alone. Soon a black letter arrived from the front saying that father had died. But after the son left, there was no news. There was no one who said they saw or knew. The war is over. Some of those who went to the front are disabled, some return healthy. It is reported that those who did not return died somewhere in the war. However, there was no news about Aksary's son. The mother waited for mail every day, every day she went out to meet the incoming ship. However, there was no news about her only son. Since the end of the war, the mother made it a habit to come to this port every day and sit for hours on the road along which her son was traveling. Years passed. By the mid-1970s, the sea began to recede and the port had to be moved. The mother who had been waiting for her son in this place for over 30 years screams “don't move the port.” “My son went to war by this sea route. If it comes, it will come with this sea,” he shouted to those who wanted to move the port. “Sister, there will be no more sea. The ships don't sail. “If your child is coming, he will come by car or plane, not by sea,” they said. “No, you don't understand. My child is still small. Only through this sea route can he find his home. He doesn't know any other land besides Muynak; he has only been to the sea. If my child comes, it will only be by sea. Otherwise, how will he find a home?..." - In 1978, when I was going to study in Almaty, I last saw Mother Aksary going to this port. “I graduated in 1983, but I didn't see this woman then,” recalled Khanimay from Muynak. A man named Abdikerim Tleuov, who worked for 28 years as the second secretary of the Muynak district committee, was deeply touched by the fate of the mother, who had been waiting for her son for 40 years, and put forward the idea of creating the Flying Star Memorial in memory of the soldiers who died in the war. Previously, this monument had the inscription “1941-1945” with five stars on top. The Ship Graveyard is located here. 12 old ships indicate that there was once a sea on this site. Yesimkan Kanaatov, Nukus city, Karakalpakstan, Uzbekistan

In a small mountain village, there lived a young girl named Lily. She was known for her kindness and her love for helping others. Lily spent her days tending to the sick and elderly, and her evenings teaching the village children how to read and write. One day, a terrible storm hit the village, causing a landslide that blocked the only road in and out. The villagers were cut off from the outside world, and supplies were running low. But Lily refused to give up hope. She rallied the villagers together and organized a plan to clear the road and find a way to bring in food and medicine. As the days passed, the villagers worked tirelessly, but progress was slow. Then, one morning, a group of travelers stumbled upon the village. They had been caught in the storm and had lost their way. They were exhausted and hungry, but Lily welcomed them with open arms. She offered them food and shelter, and in return, they offered to help the villagers clear the road. With the travelers' help, the road was cleared in no time, and supplies were brought in. The villagers rejoiced and celebrated, grateful for the strangers' kindness. As the travelers prepared to leave, they thanked Lily for her hospitality and told her that they had been searching for a village just like hers. They were part of a group of volunteers who traveled the world, helping those in need. They were so moved by Lily's selflessness and determination that they wanted to invite her to join them on their journey. Lily was overjoyed by the invitation, but she hesitated. She loved her village and the people in it, and she didn't want to leave them behind. However, the travelers assured her that she could still help others while traveling with them and that she could bring back new skills and knowledge to her village. After much thought, Lily decided to accept the offer, knowing that it was an opportunity to make an even bigger impact in the world. As she traveled with the volunteers, Lily met people from all walks of life, each with their struggles and hardships. She quickly became known for her compassion and her ability to bring hope to those in need. She learned new healing techniques and ways to improve the lives of others, and she shared these with the volunteers and the people she met along the way. Years passed, and Lily's reputation as a healer and a helper grew. She was known as the "Angel of the Mountains," and her name became synonymous with love and kindness. But despite all the good she was doing, Lily never forgot about her village and the people she had left behind. One day, she received a message from the travelers that her village was in trouble again. Another storm had hit, even worse than before, and the villagers were struggling to survive. Without hesitation, Lily and the volunteers rushed back to the village to help. When they arrived, they found the village in ruins. Homes were destroyed, and many of the villagers were injured and sick. But Lily didn't lose hope. She used all the skills and knowledge she had gained over the years to heal the villagers and rebuild their homes. The travelers pitched in, using their expertise to make the village even better. In the end, the village was stronger and more resilient than ever, and the villagers were filled with gratitude for Lily and the volunteers. They had been through so much, but they had come out of it with a newfound sense of community and love for one another. Lily had come full circle, realizing that her journey had not only helped others worldwide but also brought her back to the place she loved most. And as she looked out at the village, she knew that she would always be there to help and to bring hope to those in need.

It had always been a charming town, a melting pot of diverse life bases stemming from various multi-religious, socio-economic, and educational backgrounds. The town thrived on a rich tapestry of multiculturalism, where people with distinct identities coexisted harmoniously. The weather was a constant companion, friendly and skin-chilling, complemented by the breathtaking landscape that adorned the town. Mornings were heralded by the cheerful crowing of hens, while nights sparkled with the celestial beauty of stars in the sky. However, the tranquility abruptly shattered one somber Wednesday morning. The town awoke to a cacophony of gunshots and bomb blasts, the air filled with the terrified cries of women and children desperately seeking safety. Initially, it felt like a surreal scene from a Netflix movie or a lingering dream. The reality, however, was starkly different as insurgents had mercilessly stormed the once-idyllic town. As a university student who had migrated from the state capital in pursuit of education, my concerns shifted abruptly from academic pursuits to a fight for survival. Amidst the chaos, I frantically sought safety, no longer preoccupied with the pursuit of a degree or the allure of the beautiful city. The pressing question loomed – would I make it out alive? The perilous journey revealed the harsh truth as lifeless bodies of fellow townspeople lay strewn along the path, victims of the insurgents' brutality. The urgency of my escape overshadowed the realization that I had missed a scheduled test that morning. my phone rang, jolting me into awareness. Should I prioritize personal safety or risk everything to save a loved one? The situation bore an uncanny resemblance to a modern-day Romeo and Juliet scenario, blurring the lines between fiction and the visceral experience of love and survival. Compelled by an inexplicable courage, I retraced my steps to rescue my girlfriend from the chaos. Upon reaching the university gate, however, I encountered an unexpected obstacle – it was firmly locked. Moments later, insurgents, resembling thugs in a dilapidated van, arrived, sending a wave of fear through the frozen crowd. Unleashing gunfire, they revealed their indifference to our plight, leaving us to confront the uncertain fate they held in their hands. Fortunately, their attention shifted elsewhere, sparing us from the immediate threat. As the insurgents departed, the previously frozen crowd dispersed in various directions, each person driven by the singular goal of survival. In the aftermath, I stumbled upon a young lady lying helplessly on the ground. Ignoring my lingering fears, I carried her to the university clinic, breaking in to access medical supplies and administer first aid. Despite the chaos, her survival became a testament to the resilience that could be found amid tragedy. The scenes mirrored those from harrowing movies and documentaries about conflicts in distant lands like Rwanda, Syria, or Libya. Yet, now, these experiences were our own, and we found ourselves grappling with the harsh reality of displacement, uncertainty, and the struggle for survival. The arduous journey through the bush spanned two nights, each step a testament to resilience and determination. Passing through villages, Encountering fellow survivors along the way, we exchanged stories that painted a grim picture of the atrocities committed by the insurgents. The heartbreaking journey prompted reflection on the state of humanity, questioning how we had devolved into a society where people were forced to flee their homes due to their religious beliefs and pursuit of education. We reached a temporary sanctuary, not quite home, but a place offering a chance to board a vehicle to a safer haven. The opportunistic motorists, indifferent to our plight, exploited the situation, inflating prices for transportation. The echoes of African slavery resonated as the gravity of betrayal and complicity within our own community became apparent. Finally, back in the embrace of my family, their joy at my survival was evident. However, the trauma I carried from the journey remained hidden behind the façade of relief. The question lingered – how many others had survived, and could the town ever reclaim its former beauty? The foundations of love, trust, and coexistence as a community seemed irreparably shattered. The cruelty of mankind had pierced the fabric of society, and those who had sold their conscience for temporary gains were now ensnared in the web of their own betrayal. The young generation, witnessing this betrayal, faced the daunting task of breaking free from the bondage inflicted upon them.As I sat in the cocoon of my family's living room, the weight of the journey settled upon me. The once-charming town had become a battlefield, and the scars of survival ran deep. The journey had forced me to confront the darkest facets of humanity, raising questions about the essence of our shared existence.

It is an odd feeling being fifty. Wrinkles are settled in now, and my body feels more flimsy by the day. An elaborate continuum of forgotten memories hangs by a thread. As time passes, my thirst for spontaneity dissipates. My brain is resistant like dusty cogwheels waiting for a spark. Looking around, many strangers I used to know now rest six feet under with an identical bouquet of flowers adorning an $11,000 gravestone. Some of their bodies were taken by the wind, drowned in the deep blue sea, or kept in generational attics. Looking back, I lost many jobs in my late 20s, but thankfully I had a second chance to restart my life. Today is my 50th birthday. A day I never knew would come so soon. Occasionally, I wonder how differently my life would have played out or ponder on old friends. Even at this instant, I can taste the bittersweet memories of nostalgia in my lukewarm cappuccino. Reaching into my pocket, I felt a terrible shock enter my body. Like a pinch too sudden and too painful to even breathe. Slowly I pulled out my hand with purple bruises and a pack of sewing needles. A series of flashbacks entered my mind. My mother had sowed, and her mother sewed, and before her, my great-grandmother sewed, and her mother before that. Funny how bits of my past somehow sneak into my present and future. The pain took me back to when I was a little girl sewing patches of all textures and colors onto my corduroy pants. Clothing was scarce then, and most of my blankets were quilted. Sowing became a part of me and followed me through adolescenthood when I joined the Craft Club at my school. During the second meet-up, I noticed a girl named Lila, with hazelnut eyes and brown hair, in the back of the classroom with a croquet kit on her desk. After introducing myself to her, we became instant friends with the everlasting promise of world domination. Our friendship ended abruptly when she told me she was going to study in Europe. I lost contact with her and thought about her occasionally over the years. Even now, her mystery plagues my mind in times of solitude and reflection. Today is my Birthday. My kids and grandchildren are waiting for me to come home and celebrate a year more. This morning has been my secret escape into the past, but now I must return to the present and finish my cold cappuccino. I reach the table next to me and grab a few napkins to place my needles in. It is an odd feeling being 50, but now I feel comfortable in my flimsy skin. My life has played out the exact way it should have, and now I must keep telling my tale so that my daughter and her daughter, and her daughter will tell it too.

In the early days of the pandemic, I lived in a five hundred square foot apartment. About three hundred of that was taken up by furniture, and the rest was run by my five cats. My momma and I were starved for space, but too scared to go outside for fear of catching covid. We lived in the upper unit of an aged duplex; our downstairs neighbor was never home to keep his apartment cool so the heat rose and baked us in our sardine can. We had a couple decade old window units that tried their best to keep us cool, but more often than not we would eat meals in our car so we could have well-functioning A/C. “All I want is a house,” my mom said while the food wrapper in her hands crinkled. This had been a dream of hers my entire life, I always said if I ever won the lottery the first thing I would do is buy her one. Being in that apartment made that dream bigger, more urgent, something that constantly itched underneath both of our skins. We wanted walls of our own to paint and put holes in, we wanted freedom from overbearing landlords. We wanted to not be scared of eviction with little notice, which is what had landed us in that duplex in the first place. I crossed my legs to make myself more comfortable in the front seat. I stared out at the countryside we had seen so many times in passing, nothing but vast fields with the occasional dots of trees. “I applied for a grant,” I turned to look at my mom and make a questioning sound in my throat, “A grant, some banks will give money to poor folks to help with a down payment. I know we could afford a mortgage and utilities, but I could never save up enough for the down payment,” At the time it seemed like a pipe dream, but the worst thing they could say was no. We would never know if we didn't give it a shot, and at the time all we wanted was that miracle. “Holy shit! Kitty! We got it, we got it!” my mom burst into my room to give me a hug, squeezing me tighter than she ever had before. She nearly dropped her phone her hands were shaking so much. She seemed to be on the verge of tears so I held her a little longer and bonked my head against hers. From that moment on our life consisted of scrolling through Zillow and looking through the newspaper for any home that fit our budget. We didn't have much but fortunately the areas we were looking in weren't the fanciest. We toured place after place, always six feet behind our realtor and shrouded with our masks. “Wow! This place is so spacious and look at those hardwood floors.” She commented as our feet clacked on the floors. The walls were painted a cool blue, it felt like the living room alone was the size of our apartment. It had four whole bedrooms, and a dining room! It was more space than we could have ever dreamed of. At the time we didn't want to get our hopes up, the place was ten thousand dollars over our seemingly meager budget. My mom's door slammed as we climbed into her jeep after the tour. “I mean, it was amazing, but there's no way they'll ever accept our offer,” I looked at her and told her we never thought we would get the grant either. It would hurt more if we never put in an offer in the first place than it would to be told no. It would haunt us to let this opportunity sleep by. A place that wasn't ancient, not too far from family, and had enough room for all of us. She held my hand and nodded, texting our realtor to put in the offer. The day we learned that we got the house, it felt like someone out there was watching out for us. It felt like a blur, between putting in the offer, signing for it, and moving in. For a while it felt like I was dreaming. It didn't hit me until we were standing there in our new living room, with our second hand couch and great value tv stand, that the house was ours. I remember holding my mom real tight, crying for the first time in what felt like years. We spent the night laughing and celebrating, finally able to eat a meal not in our car.

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​I find it annoying that most people when they say 'I love fish' feel no need to specify 'dead' and 'fried'. Some people throw in the word 'to' in the middle but that is hardly the point I am trying to make. That one kind of conveys both meanings at the same time. It kills two birds with one arrow. Or two fish with a bait, to be hilarious. Anyway, the conversation Finn and Gill were having wasn't any better than this. "The weather is fine but it cod be better." Gill hummed in a shrill voice, banging her beer can hard on the table. "Oh dolphinately." added Finn as he cackled, slapping his hands on his lap. "Holy Carp! You are krilling me" Gill said from the other side. Her voice had hit the roof of her pitch. She could as well be in an Acapella. "Oh Cod! It cannot get Betta than that!" Finn replied gulping down his can in one go, spitting out half of it in middle of giggles. "Finn, that one was eel-y eel-y good! Oh my god, could this night get any punnier?" Gill replied as she choked herself laughing. The next minute she jumped of the stool, her stomach paining from all the manic energy. She needed to stop. "You need to clam down, buddy" Finn shouted at her as she walked around trying to stop laughing. Her entrails hurt from the vibrating. She was getting a little dizzy. Less from the beer, more from the puns. "I got one more, Gill! It is an FIN-teresting one" Finn lost it too at this one. He was rocking in quivers of laughs, spit falling out, jaws hurting, beer raining around. And Gill joined in, chuckling even harder than she was at the start. "Ok stop now. I can't laugh... Haaaaaaaa..... No really... You are such a pain in the ass!" she said hoola-hooping into another cackle. "Do you mean, pain in the BASS?! HEEEEEEE! GET IT? PAIN IN THE... BASS." More laughter. More spit. More eyes looking at them, two drunkards laughing there bass off. "Ok we need to stop. Otherwise we'll have to get tr-OUT!" Gill said as she slipped and banged her head on the barstool, then got up and continued to laugh in an even stronger fit. "Yeah, yeah, they will probably call the oooo-fish-ials on us." More laughter. "You don't want the cops as your anemonenies" It was finally time that they settled down back into their seats rubbing their bellies. The people around were probably glaring at them. But they were too late to care at this point. "I can't Fink of anemone" Finn said. Gill smiled. The joke was done. It didn't feel that funny anymore. The fading laughter brought back the ichthyologist. "So, this is it. I am leaving tomorrow" she said rubbing her head and throwing her hair back. "Yeah... Tomorrow... You better solve the Freshwater Fish Paradox." She smiled and chuckled a little. "You are making it sound like it's a big deal. It's just a research. To study the patterns in freshwater fishes and extrapolate data to account for their evolution." "Yeah, I don't know, that sure sounds like it's a big deal." "You were saying something earlier? Before the puns?" she said. "Oh, I guess I was. I... I don't really remember now." Silence. "I will tell you if I remember." "Yeah." The waiter walked in, his face knotted in disgust. The puddles of beer around the floor were enough to trigger his mood from bad to foul. But as he reached the table, he managed to pull the most artificial fake smile. "Here's your prawns, sir! Anything else?" "No that would be all!" The sight of prawns brought a smile back on their faces. "You know, when you first told me that you love fish?" Another giggle. "Yeah I do." "Right. I had thought you liked... Eating fish." Yet another giggle. The blushing kind. "I know." "Okay, you know what. I... I like you." The blood in his face was hot. Looking in her eyes, he could see the same. The smiling lips flattened into surprise. It felt like an infinity. In-fin-ity. Stop it. It's not the time for puns. She halted there, completely still for a moment. And then slowly, the smile grew back. And it grew larger. "So... You want me to be your Gill-friend?"

Growing up, Sarah always dreamed of making a difference in the world. She was the kind of person who was always looking for ways to help others, whether it was volunteering at the local food bank or organizing a fundraiser for a deserving cause. Despite facing numerous challenges and setbacks throughout her life, Sarah never let anything stand in the way of her dreams. She worked hard, studying late into the night and taking on multiple jobs to pay her way through college. After earning her degree, Sarah dedicated herself to a career in public service. She spent years working on the front lines of social justice, fighting to make the world a better place for all people. Through her tireless efforts, Sarah was able to bring about real change in her community. She helped to establish programs that provided meals to the hungry, housing for the homeless, and education for underserved children. But Sarah's greatest accomplishment came when she was chosen to lead a team of international aid workers on a mission to bring medical care and supplies to a remote village in Africa. It was there that she saw firsthand the transformative power of compassion and generosity, and she returned home with a renewed sense of purpose and determination. Today, Sarah is an inspiration to all who know her. She continues to work tirelessly to make the world a better place, and her efforts have touched the lives of countless people around the globe. Despite all that she has achieved, Sarah remains humble and grateful, always remembering that it is by working together that we can create a brighter future for all. Sarah's work did not go unnoticed, and she soon found herself in high demand as a speaker and advocate for social justice issues. She traveled the world, sharing her story and inspiring others to take action and make a difference in their own communities. As she spoke to groups large and small, Sarah's message was always the same: that each and every one of us has the power to create positive change in the world. She encouraged her listeners to follow their passions and pursue their dreams, no matter how big or small they may seem. Sarah's own dream was to establish a nonprofit organization that would provide ongoing support and resources to those in need. And with the help of a dedicated team of volunteers and supporters, she was able to do just that. The organization, called "Heart of Gold," quickly became known for its innovative programs and its commitment to making a lasting impact on the lives of those it served. Whether it was providing disaster relief to communities in need or offering job training and mentorship to young people, Heart of Gold was making a difference in countless lives. And through it all, Sarah remained at the heart of the organization, always leading with compassion, kindness, and a fierce determination to make the world a better place. As she looks back on all that she has accomplished, Sarah knows that her journey has just begun. There is still so much work to be done, and she is more committed than ever to making a difference in the world. But no matter what the future may hold, Sarah knows that she has already made a lasting impact, and for that, she is truly grateful. As the years went by, Sarah's work continued to grow and expand, touching the lives of even more people around the world. She was constantly amazed by the generosity and compassion of those who supported Heart of Gold, and she knew that it was because of their efforts that the organization was able to achieve so much. But Sarah also knew that there was still so much more to be done, and she was determined to keep pushing forward. She worked tirelessly, never taking a day off and always striving to find new and innovative ways to make a difference. And her hard work paid off. Heart of Gold continued to grow and thrive, and Sarah was able to see the positive impact of her efforts in the lives of the people she served. She knew that she was making a real difference in the world, and that was all the motivation she needed to keep going. As Sarah approached her 50th birthday, she knew that she had accomplished so much, but she also knew that there was still so much more work to be done. She had no plans to slow down, and she was as passionate and dedicated as ever to the cause of helping others. Looking back on her journey, Sarah knew that she had been blessed with many gifts and opportunities. But she also knew that it was her own hard work and determination that had brought her to where she was today. And she was grateful for every challenge and every setback, knowing that they had only made her stronger and more resilient. Sarah's story is one of hope and inspiration, and it is a reminder to us all that with hard work and determination, anything is possible. No matter what challenges we may face, we have the power to make a difference in the world, and to create a brighter and more compassionate future for all.

Jake and Fiona had been inseparable as kids. They were the best of friends and spent every moment they could together. They lived on the same street and went to the same school, and even ended up in the same class for most of their elementary and middle school years. When they were little, they loved to play dress up and have tea parties in the park, climb trees, and run through the sprinklers on hot summer days. As they got older, they started to explore their interests and passions more, and while they still had a lot in common, they also started to drift apart a bit. Fiona became really interested in art and spent most of her time drawing and painting, while Jake developed a love for sports and spent hours practicing and playing with his friends. They still saw each other often and would hang out when they could, but it wasn't quite the same as it used to be. When high school came around, they ended up in different schools and saw each other even less. They stayed in touch, but their friendship wasn't as strong as it had been. After high school, Jake and Fiona both decided to go to the same college, but they ended up in different dorms and had very different schedules. They ran into each other from time to time, but it was usually just a quick hello in passing. One day, they ended up in the same study group for a difficult class they were both taking. At first, it was a little awkward since they hadn't spent much time together in years, but as they started working together, they realized how much they still had in common. They started to hang out more outside of class and their friendship picked up right where it had left off. As they spent more time together, they started to realize just how much they had missed each other's company. They laughed and talked about everything, just like they used to when they were kids. They even started to do some of the same things they used to do when they were younger, like having picnics in the park and going on adventures. Before they knew it, Jake and Fiona were the best of friends again, just like they had been all those years ago. They were each other's support system and were always there for each other, through the good times and the tough ones. As they graduated college and started their adult lives, they knew that they would always be there for each other. They had come full circle, from being the best of friends as kids to drifting apart and finding their way back to each other as adults. They were grateful for the time they had spent apart, as it had helped them grow and discover who they were as individuals, but they were even more grateful to have each other in their lives again. They were a team, and they knew that they would always have each other's backs, no matter what life threw their way.

Thomas Brennan's family grew and as teens became young adults, they accepted many jobs to help support the family. Yet, Thomas gave his sons one requirement, “Serve your country.” James served in the Civil War, Harold, WWI. There were many other sons in the Brennan Family who served but this is about Harold, my father-in-law. As I said previously, Harold served in World War 1 as a Private in the 308th Infantry. Yes, like his siblings and relatives before him, enlisted. He was proud to serve. His nightmare was about to begin. He and his battalion fought bravely following the orders given to their leader, Major Charles Whittlesey. They carried two forms of communication: radio and pigeons. They were headed to the Argonne Forest to push the German army back and regain control for France. They were flanked by the French soldiers on one side and the English on the other – or so they thought. The Argonne battle ensued on October 2, 1918. The Germans thought the Americans would never fight for something that didn't belong to them and pushed on. They fought hard; our American troops fought harder. The Germans sent their best snipers. They weren't good enough. Then they were gassed. While hundreds of American troops died, others forged on. The Germans sent in their “storm troopers” with flame throwers to either discourage or kill the American soldiers. The Americans persisted. The American troops suffered horrific confrontation with the enemy. They were also hungry, thirsty, and were running out of ammunition. They radioed their command post but received no answer. They tried again. Same result. A scout went send out only to find the radioman KIA, the lines cut, and the radio box destroyed. They soon realized – they were alone – alone in a foreign land with the enemy surrounding them. They had one hope left. Cher Ami! A baby pigeon with truly little experience in “home travel,” but they had to try. After attaching a brief message to her leg, they kissed her beak and let her fly. They watched as the bullets from the German rifles soared in the air strategically aiming at the little bird. Finally, they lost sight of her. Some of the solders prayed while other began to lose hope. Major Whittlesey took a headcount. About 194 soldiers were still standing. The others were either killed, captured, or missing. He took inventory of the remaining weapons. Approximately fourteen rifles were in working order, but they only had about six bullets left. As Major Whittlesey was about the sit down with his men and report his findings, he realized everything was quiet. Too quiet. Suddenly, the major heard what sounded like vehicles. Vehicles? The Germans wouldn't approach with trucks and or tanks, would they? Then he heard his name. “Major! Major Whittlesey!” The voice was American. Then Major stood and saw his commanding officer, General Alexander heading towards them with other men, jeeps, and a transport truck. The battle for the forest was over. The Germans, underestimating the Americans, retreated. Harold married his fiancé in 1819 and soon welcomed their first child, Harold Jr. Not long after, his health began to wane. He coughed, wheezed, and often struggled for breath. He was diagnosed with tuberculosis. He was sent to a facility for six months to treat him. Home again, he was ordered not to dine or interact with his wife and son. Close contact was forbidden for another six months. Once the doctors felt he was regaining his health, his normal activities resume but so did the nightmares. For six days, he had no idea if he would live or die in the heavily vegetated forest in France. He sat, slept, ate, and breathed in the damp cold atmosphere with dead bodies strewn around him. And yet, he still insisted that his sons serve the country that he loved. While I never met Harold, he passed away due to a massive heart attack before I met my husband, I will always admire the bravery he and his fellow soldiers demonstrated in France. Truly, they are all heroes.

Just waiting to be leader of my generation as i've been the most hated since 8th grade. But i know i will win this war and i know i can be victorius with victory . I will make a change and i will win.

‘BOOM!' They dropped the first bomb. As quickly as a flash, the sky was red, then orange, then black. The smoke, though still far away, was clearly visible and the sound, deafening! So Izumy ran. He rushed to the woods near the mountains where, long ago, his mother had shown him a secret hiding spot - a hole inside this big, round hollowed out oak tree that had been for decades standing tall and proud. ‘Almost there, almost there' was all that crossed his mind at that moment, between breaths of fear and despair. Indeed, he was getting close to the hideout, he knew the drill by heart, but would that be enough? Izumy's mom had always protected him. No matter what the situation was or how much she had to fight and even lose for him, she would do it. Thus, all his understandable and constant scared thoughts mid-war used to disappear quite quickly for he knew she was there. Barely had he become a teenager, though, he faced the most sorrowful of his days: looking her in the eyes for the last time. That was when the Americans first attempted to invade their county, and a group of murderous-looking soldiers caught them running away. The sound of the leaves all over the place being trodden into the muddy path turned them in. ‘Take me, leave the boy! He's just a child! Leave the boy!' she screamed over and over until they actually released Izumy, who heard his mother's next words already fading way, ‘Promise me you'll be safe, go to the tree', and found himself left alone in the dark. Now, with the bomb there and no parent – or friend, or anyone – the brave little boy, as his mama used to call him, would have to prove once more to be worthy of that name. He had a promise to keep, but he was scared. Every inch of his tense body felt the adrenaline coursing through, so much that it seemed like his legs alone weighed a thousand pounds. The cold rain that had just started to pour down made it even harder to distinguish the right way. ‘Ouch!' he couldn't help but shout when he stepped on a false clump of grass that got his foot stuck in a deep narrow snake hole. Immediately covering his mouth with both hands as to stop himself from saying anything else, he struggles to get out of there. It hurts, but he has to move – and promptly! Two airplanes were flying over the surroundings nearby just waiting for the storm clouds to disperse. Finally, after a few scratches, Izumy was free to continue to flee, not as fast as before but hopefully the rain would keep him undercover until he found the tree. A few more miles he goes, his eyes fixed on the weird-shaped rock after the woods where he should turn left, when suddenly he hears this very familiar sound: it was them – again! The soldiers had either found him already or were about to, for that terrifying lethal noise of heavy war boots was too close-by. With strength born of pure panic, Izumy sprinted to the rock and then to where the tree was. He would've made it, he would have – had the tree been there. That was the place, he was sure! But for some reason it was gone. ‘Stop right there, whoever you are!', he is threatened by the also unknown American man. The brave boy does stop, his heart beating frenetically, his mind analyzing every possible escape route. ‘Should I surrender? Run? Fight?' Deep down, he just wanted to cry and desperately wished mom were there – ‘She would know exactly what to do'. At that instant, the troop leader raises his gun high up and all soldiers freeze, even the rain seems to obey him, gradually ceasing as he approaches Izumy. That heavy weapon pointing to the ground, but very well positioned so as to be pulled out at any second, was the same one that had escorted his mother away at a time that felt like years ago. The man stared at Izumy for a minute, serious yet thoughtful. ‘You are that boy, aren't you?', he mumbles. Silence. ‘Are you not? The boy whose mother we recklessly… I mean… who died here'. Izumy almost unnoticeably nods, not even looking up to the invaders, but able to see a hand moving towards him. He quickly darts back and hides his poor terrified face, ‘Please, no!'. The soldier, though, only gently touches his shoulder and whispers ‘I am sorry, kid. We needn't have done that', and retreats into the forest with his fellows. Izumy, still petrified, hardly believes what had just happened. Slowly breathing at a normal pace again, he gazes around and finds no one but himself once more on that path. Tears of grief and relief running down his cheek - ‘Thank you, mommy', he says out loud. The brave boy understood, then, for sure that the tree would always keep him safe, just like his mother. Even though he couldn't see it nor her, they were his guardians and, for the first time since the war started, he knew that, one way or another, he would be fine.