Short Story Interpretation of "The Minefield"
ENL102
31 October 2013 Bobby “KA-BOOM!” It was like the echoing of the fireworks on the fourth of July, except it was not. These were bombs; real bombs. It was the year 1967 and the war seemed to worsen with each passing day. “In just the first four months [of 1967] 37 attacks were made that were directed at civilians” (“The Six Day War”). We heard the bombs detonate day after day. They seemed to become louder and louder as the days progressed. It must have been my imagination, and boy did I have a wild one. It was a nice day outside and Bobby and I decided that we wanted to run around through the towns together like we always did. We were fourteen. Bobby was always faster than me, for which I had always envied him. “Hurry up! Let’s go!” he would say. We ran until we became hungry. Like yesterday I remember his voice, “Come on! I know a shortcut through a field. There’s lettuce in one of them!” Of course he was a few strides ahead of me and I was ultimately annoyed at the fact that he just couldn’t wait up for me. I looked down at my feet, exhaled hard in hopes to gain a quick burst of energy to catch up. I looked back up at Bobby to see where he was in reference to me. He was about a quarter of the way up the field when he looked back at me and smiled. Before he could even turn back around, his body was in pieces; scattered amongst the field. Bobby, once my best friend standing next to me minutes before, was now a mere addition to the dirt and grass that shrouded the field I stood upon. The year is 2000; thirty-three years later. I am haunted everyday with the memories I carry of Bobby. He comes with me everywhere I go. I go to the grocery store; Bobby comes with me. I go to work; Bobby comes with me. I go to bed: I see Bobby in my dreams. I see him everywhere I go. When I wake up, Bobby is the first thought on my mind. Every day of my life I wake up, see my
31 October 2013 Bobby “KA-BOOM!” It was like the echoing of the fireworks on the fourth of July, except it was not. These were bombs; real bombs. It was the year 1967 and the war seemed to worsen with each passing day. “In just the first four months [of 1967] 37 attacks were made that were directed at civilians” (“The Six Day War”). We heard the bombs detonate day after day. They seemed to become louder and louder as the days progressed. It must have been my imagination, and boy did I have a wild one. It was a nice day outside and Bobby and I decided that we wanted to run around through the towns together like we always did. We were fourteen. Bobby was always faster than me, for which I had always envied him. “Hurry up! Let’s go!” he would say. We ran until we became hungry. Like yesterday I remember his voice, “Come on! I know a shortcut through a field. There’s lettuce in one of them!” Of course he was a few strides ahead of me and I was ultimately annoyed at the fact that he just couldn’t wait up for me. I looked down at my feet, exhaled hard in hopes to gain a quick burst of energy to catch up. I looked back up at Bobby to see where he was in reference to me. He was about a quarter of the way up the field when he looked back at me and smiled. Before he could even turn back around, his body was in pieces; scattered amongst the field. Bobby, once my best friend standing next to me minutes before, was now a mere addition to the dirt and grass that shrouded the field I stood upon. The year is 2000; thirty-three years later. I am haunted everyday with the memories I carry of Bobby. He comes with me everywhere I go. I go to the grocery store; Bobby comes with me. I go to work; Bobby comes with me. I go to bed: I see Bobby in my dreams. I see him everywhere I go. When I wake up, Bobby is the first thought on my mind. Every day of my life I wake up, see my