[A little note before you read this. Just to make it clear, this was an "essay" I composed for my English class. It turned out to be more of a story though it seems. It's focus is to emphasize surroundings and their effects -- yet I know it seems to focus entirely on war. The "war" going on in this is -- never mind. Use your imagination, interpret this in your own way. Comments are appreciated! Also, I realize the idea itself isn't all too original. Overused. But this was my perspective and my "creativity". So please respect that.]

Second Essay
2-20-11, Period 3

I gazed up at the sky as the jets flew by. There was smoke in the air that collided with the insistent screams that pierced my ears; like the sound of the bombs that fell everywhere. People ran for cover, even though they knew it would do no good. Most of the people cried and held each other, knowing in their hearts that this was the end. Coughing quietly as I inhaled the toxins, I closed my eyes and sat on concrete -- leaning my back against the bricks that remained of my home. My tears had all dried up, however, the wounds on my body still bled. It had now permanently settled into my mind that this was the way I would die. That the war being fought by everyone but the innocent people would kill everyone in its way. Another thing came to me as I inhaled more of the smoke and the stench of dead bodies -- that my surroundings had always affected me. I'd just never realized it before now.

"You can't just sit out here in the open. You'll be blown to bits." the unfamiliar voice cracked on nearly every word, the person sounding deprived of anything to drink for quite a long time. I looked up, coughing quietly and shrugging. My brown eyes were glassy -- like so many others I was quite ill. The smoke in my lungs killed me with every breath. "I am doomed to die either way. Are you thirsty?" clearing my throat and sighing deeply, I stood slowly. I could barely walk as I made my way out into the open, walking into my house through the doorway that was nearly unrecognizable. Buried beneath rubble was my refrigerator; I knocked bricks off the top of it and opened it, casually taking out a bottle of water. "Here. S'not like I need it now anyways." The woman blinked, eyes fearful as an explosion only four blocks away threatened to permanently damage our hearing. She grabbed the bottle, nodded, and ran away to hide just as most others did.

I glanced around, coughing and hacking until I fell onto a pile of bricks that used to be the fireplace. Blood splattered onto the concrete -- having come from inside me, from my lungs that were struggling to maintain my existence. My heart beat weakly, struggling to function with all the blood loss that was affecting me as a whole. It was only a matter of time before my body gave up; my mind already had long ago.

"Miss? Are you okay?" I opened my eyes, my vision blurry as I tried to focus on the face of a male whom seemed to tower above me. In response to his question, I shook my head, unsure if my body even performed the movement as I expected it to automatically. At this point I was too close to passing out to say anything or even offer the poor fellow a water to ease the burning in his throat that tormented all of us. He took my weakness as an answer since my body hadn't moved at all apparently; the man easily lifted me into his arms, carrying me what seemed like a long distance.

Coughing up some more blood, I smiled with my chapped lips and blood stained teeth. "Hmm...th...anks..."

There were explosions and pillars of smoke and gas that floated lazily through the air. Surrounding the male and I were tanks of all shapes and sizes, men with guns, jets with bombs, and people cowering in the shadows. We'd all been turned into victims of war and poverty and hopelessness. Our surroundings were polluted, corrupt, crumbling.

My vision blurred further, blood practically spewing from my mouth now as another explosion harmed my hearing. The man who held me frowned, his eyes wide. I clenched at his shoulders, nails digging straight through his shirt and to his skin. I knew that what was happening now was a result of my surroundings, of the things that made up my life. The cancerous gases that filled my lungs had finally fulfilled their purpose. Death. My slowing heartbeat rang in my ears louder than the explosions; the man whom held me began to run as a jet above us settled to release a bomb. "I..." my fragile pale fingers reached into my shirt pocket until it came up with a small photograph; a picture of myself and my now deceased mother. Her blue eyes now looked so solemn and peaceful as they came to my attention. I handed the photograph with a shaking hand to the man, and saw the tears that streamed down his face as we finally reached the shadows. But all I could see was the light. I embraced it because that was the only thing left to do.

Our surroundings determine more aspects of our life then we care to realize. Sometimes it will have no effect whatsoever upon us -- living in an orphanage wouldn't make us any less stable than a child whom lived with a happily married couple. Yet there are times such as these, where our surroundings decide our fate more than it ever has before. Our surroundings give us life. Just as easily as they take it away.