My Love Of West Point-Personal Narrative

Have you ever suffered? Did you get better or never quite recover? Did you find your lover laying with another? I did. No one tells you how cruel the world can be, or how to cope with tragedy and pain. I had been out of town for months away in the Army, and had come back to no warm welcome. My life, my love, my fiancée was with another. I had always held on deeply to her whispering seductively in my ear “always”, but always is valueless and I wish I never heard her speak a word. Loves funny, the way one day it’s there and the next it’s not. It doesn’t ask to be excused and once it’s gone, it’s gone for good. Looking back on when we were together, before this monster came in to wreak his havoc, maybe I never tried hard enough and it’s my fault.
Maybe I never tried at all.
I was scared, scared of our adolescent love and where it would lead. I kissed my fear instead of her. The rumbling of the train drowns out my thoughts into reality. I’m on my way West Point, I’m on my way to New York, a lifelong dream of mine, something I’ve been awaiting for a while. West Point has always been somewhere in between delusion and prophesy and now…. Now I couldn’t be bothered, I find it now intimidating, daunting, it has a castle like structure and it feels uninviting. I want to write, I want my work to flood the minds of others and inspire. I no longer want war, I want no part of it. As I’m skimming through the newspaper at hand, I see an article on how some madman burnt the York Cathedral to the ground. Oh how I long to be the one to write that, a grand soliloquy written by me, Edgar Allan Poe, but somehow I put myself on this train. I’m not happy on this train, I’m not happy where this train is taking me, I’m not happy I’m alone, I’m not
happy. I’ve been at WestPoint for a couple of months now; my dream of writing is now a vision, vagueness, a faded image. Yesterday night was the first snowfall, the earth covered in a white blanket. It’s early; I’m standing on a hillside overlooking the Academy. I almost feel reborn all alone on this hill. I’m enjoying my classes at WestPoint, top of the class too. I made a point to try and enjoy WestPoint, but I cannot ignore my dreams forever. I’m afraid to change, but that’s not an excuse to stay. I fear my stepfather’s disappointment, although I can’t see how I could be any more disappointing to him. I have acquaintances, to whom I share my feelings about my indecisive careers. They don’t understand. “You think this is bad, you don’t know the half” they say. I’m miserable but I’d rather anything than suffer your jokes again. Why even risk it, it’s safer to stay distant anyways. I will never trust the ice, I will never trust anything. I must admit, I’ve turned to alcohol, it’s an armistice miracle. I can feel my once fiancée watching me and I hate it. I think she saw me confront my fear, it went up with the bottle and down with the liquor. It’s like medicine, its self discovery, and I realize what I must do, where I must go. I must contemplate the current and demand my coward cease. I’ve started skipping class, I’ve started disruptions, and I started my way to follow my dreams. People are noticing, everybody gossiping, when did they find out the concrete gave, that the wires snapped? I’m getting in trouble, I’m getting written up, I have a court hearing scheduled to discuss what I’ve done. I’m terrified it doesn’t feel painful yet. I’m tired, I say a drink might help me sleep, I’m broken anyways. I’ve done this time, boy am I in trouble. I tried to curb my anger, I tried to still my fists, but I wanted out. A drill sergeant is chasing me, for what I did. I can hear him screaming behind me, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m not running from him, I’m chasing my dreams. And what he doesn’t know is that I’ll catch it. I can see the train, my escape, my only hope. It’s starting to move but no matter I’ll jump on an empty box on the end. He’s fast and he’s gaining. I’ve never run so hard in my life; in different circumstances my drill sergeant would have been proud. I’m close to reaching the train, and thank God because he’s close. The train is loud, so loud we both have our hands stretched over our ears. The end of the train is coming up with a couple open boxes for me to jump in. My hand wrapped around the handle and I swung myself in the car. I could feel his hands on me but it was too late, I was gone. I watched as he disappeared into the background, into the already faded background of WestPoint where there was no life, no love, no history. You still cross my mind, quite often, and I mostly smile at our memories. I miss her, if I didn’t miss her, a part of me would be dead. Everything seems to be falling into perfect symmetry, into sense. I don’t know where I’m headed or how I’ll start my writing career but it doesn’t matter to me. Nothing can stop the trembling in my hands, it’s been a couple hours since I’ve left WestPoint and the cold is haunting. It’s daunting, its fear fiction, is it worth it worry or was this all a big mistake? I say no, it can’t be and this will work, my work will be published, it will inspire, it will influence, move, it will create creativity in others. I’m happy on this train, I’m happy where this train is taking me, and I’m happy where I am.