STOLEN If the world was in peace, if he wasn t taken, if we were only together as one, we could get through this as a family. But that is the exact opposite of my family s story. My father is probably dead and I am in a war. I presume my father died probably the same way I will. Shot in the middle of a battle, with a soldier riding on me. He was taken away from my mom before I was born. In 1757, the Americans had my parents for study. They made the decision that my father would leave, but my mother would stay because of her age. So they took him away. When I was 6, because of my age and speed, I was taken to the French military. I wasn t looking forward to it. We travelled about 921 km from Québec to Queenston Heights, but we had battles in between. I was in my pen when I fell into a deep sleep. My mother was screaming, and then there was a gunshot that hit her skull. I woke up suddenly to a deafening sound and an even louder sound after that, which took off the horse pen door.
Then there was a bunch of men shouting and running. Suddenly the thought rose in my head. Right when I hid behind the wall, The Isaac Brock approached me. Instantly he placed a saddle on and was on top of me. I could tell that he was stressed and didn t expect this. And then, he leaned over and whispered something in my ear. We can do this together, Jérôme. Follow me! he shouted to his allies. My feet started and were moving so fast. His feet digging into my side were so strong and determined that we really were a team. Once we were close to the enemies, Brock raised his sword high and began to attack. He used a variety of different techniques that were breath taking to me. He must have killed about 20 of them and counting. No one could block his lunges because we were moving so fast.
We were 5 feet away from the next soldier when I heard a loud gunshot. It came from nowhere, but Brock seemed fine so we kept going. As we traveled through the soldiers, I noticed that lots of people were so close beside us, but Brock stopped attacking. Before I could turn around, a sharp pain hit me in the leg. I let out a painful cry and stopped running. I looked down in agony to see a sword stuck in my leg. I was in such brutal pain. The sight of the silver in my flesh released my past food and I tried to breathe in and out. I took a deep breath and turned around.it was painful to attempt, but I shook my body and it fell out. I was relieved, but the wound obviously stayed. Once I was near my army of British and French mixed, I noticed a hand hanging lifelessly beside my face. I glanced at the wrist and saw the cuff of its clothing. I recognized the color and the fabric. I realized that the gunshot before had led to the chest of my passenger, Isaac Brock. I tried to release the idea from my mind that it was my fault when Isaac Brock fell off of me with a loud smack. Instantly men were at his aid. Faster and faster the army of mine was starting to get close to the Americans. Not knowing what to do, I ran towards an open space by a cliff. I climbed up the small hill and looked far out. There was violence as far as I could see. Through all the people, something caught my eye. I scanned the area and saw my father. A rush of excitement went through me. I was about to take off, but how was I to get to him? He had an American on his back! With my luck, he came out of the crowd with a corpse on his saddle. When I approached him, his eyes met my gaze, and we just stared, ignoring the vibrations and loud noises of the battle. After about what seemed like hours, we approached each other with slow movements. We used our bodies as language, so we just kind of cuddled and played with a bit of sound coming from our mouths. But at the worst moment, a soldier of the British
came over to me and jumped on to me in an instant. He kicked his heels into me and I was off. In the corner of my eye I saw my father running parallel to us. His rider an American was on top of him aiming his gun in our direction. Before I could turn, I had a sheering pain in my leg and I fell on the ground. I looked up to see my passenger get decapitated. I turned my eyes facing the sun, and saw one of the French come over on a horse. The two of them had a sword fight, while neither of them were very experienced by the looks of it. The French man was shoulder checked off his horse and fell with a thud. I stood up to see the scene of stirring events. My father backed up for the decapitation sequence again. He went charging close to the French man, but at the last moment, he pulled a pistol out from his military jacket. His fingers pressed the trigger and I heard the click. A loud sound crept into my ears and I saw the smoke. My dad fell to the ground and so did the American. The American stood up and was shot in the heart. I was waiting for my father to get up and run away from here with me, but he never did get up. Puddles of blood started to form near his head. It was over. There was no point in living my life now. The French man probably did that to put the American in a trapped position. But he could have just shot him in the leg, not in the head. I stood up slowly, trying not to hurt myself. I walked over to my father slowly trying not to pass out. At least it was a quick death. I said my goodbyes and left. Another soldier jumped on top of me and I was off. It was very hard to run or walk properly. As we were charging towards the battle, a loud sound rang into my ears and before I knew it, a cannon ball hit so close to us I jumped backwards. Unfortunately, there was a cliff beside us. My feet were swept out from underneath me. So I fell. And fell. Into an impending doom of rock.
The impact was only one second long, but it hurt like the devil. Sorry if this was a depressing story, but that can sometimes be reality. But I do wish none of this ever happened, that I was just a horse. THE END BY DANNY WEBSTER