The first one I'd like to recognize is Sacrifice by writer J. J. Jackson from here. When I read this, I found myself caught up in the words. It really cut into me, with J. J. sharing his personal beliefs and linking his ideas.
Enjoy! The second winner is below.
“You must learn to let go of all that you fear to lose.” -Master Yoda
A wise saying that I never got as a ten year-old, but as an eighteen year-old it means so much. It’s the wisest out of all Yoda’s sayings, and it’s the most applicable to me. Whether applicable to you the reader, or not, perhaps it will give you something to chew on.
From the day we are born, we gain possessions, great and small. Blankets, baby toys, and clothes are showered upon us, even though our infant minds can’t comprehend them.
Over time, we learn to value our possessions, becoming attached to them. However, possessions are just things that will deteriorate over time, just like us, so why do we hold on to them?
Perhaps it is because they make us feel secure in a very insecure world. Like the blanket that made us feel safe as children, our gadgets, cars, and clothing make us feel, safe.
Attachment is natural, but it can also be detrimental.
In my case, I’m preparing to graduate high-school next month, and then, move out of the house sometime this year. I’m attached to my books, my Kindle Fire, my music, and my clothing. Everything I own holds sentimentality, especially my books, but I will temporarily have to leave them behind. That’s a scary thing for me to think about, leaving all of those things behind, why is that?
They’re just things after all, not people. I will more than likely obtain new possessions wherever else I move to, but will it be the same?
This could be a dilemma for me, or, it could be a needed trial that I must go through. I can’t move on in my life if I’m still holding on to these things in my mind. And any commitment to a new life would be challenging if I’m holding on to my old life. This will be a great sacrifice for me, but I believe that it will make me a better person.
When I think about sacrifice, two people come to mind, one fictional, and the other, a real person.
The above quote was directed to Anakin Skywalker who feared for the life of his wife and unborn child. Having already lost his mother, Anakin was afraid to lose his family, as a dream inadvertently indicated. He was willing to do anything to keep Padme and the baby safe, even if that meant making a deal with the Devil (Palpatine). Jedi were to be totally committed to serving the Republic, marriage was a commitment that took a Jedi away from the oath already made, making it hard to let go of all they feared to lose. Anakin’s attachment led him to sacrifice his morality and ultimately, his marriage.
Fictional as that story is, it contains great lessons that should be learned. Fearing the loss of our possessions and, or our loved ones can lead us to a dark place. We should never be willing to do “anything” to keep our lives “perfect.” Learning to let go, and accept the fact that some things in this world are out of our control is a very wise thing to do.
The second person we should consider when thinking about sacrifice is Jesus Christ.
Jesus is the ultimate example of sacrifice in all aspects of life. He had everything in Heaven, and yet, He was willing to leave Heaven and become a man. He gave up so much by putting on flesh, but He didn’t let that attachment that He may have had in Heaven get in the way of fulfilling His Father’s will.
This is something that is hard for me to fathom, mainly because I’m trying to get to heaven, and Jesus left. He could have said no, but He didn’t.
He was helpless for a time as a baby, can you imagine that? He went through puberty for the first time, had aches and pains, and had to be submissive to Mary and Joseph.
He endured ridicule from various people, and yet, He never struck them dead. He let others blaspheme Father, falsely accuse Him, spit in His face, scourge Him, put a crown of thorns on His head, and nail his hands and feet to a cross. In all of this, Jesus sacrificed His dignity, something we can’t do sometimes.
The ultimate sacrifice of Jesus was His separation from God. He bore all of our sins, but not just our sins, the sins of those who came before us, and the sins of those who will come after us. Sin separates us from God, which was the reason for Jesus’s coming to bridge that gap, and Jesus paid the price for our sins.
His sacrifice was worth it, and thanks be to God that He raised Jesus on the third day.
Jesus gave up all that He may have feared to lose to save us by shedding His blood, which saves us through baptism. And it’s because of Jesus that I’m willing to sacrifice all my possessions to live for Him. So, yes, I’ll miss my things, I’ll miss my family, but as long as I have Jesus, I can do all things.
The sky is bright and blue as I peek out the window on a cool, spring day. The damp smell of the red Georgian clay fills my nose, and I sigh deeply. Everything’s calm and serene- there’s not even a bird chirping. Suddenly, I hear a chorus of cheerful yelps and hoots. “War!” A group of boys run down the hill towards our house, their faces alight with happiness. My brother Charlie is among them, and he winks at me as they run past. He throws his hat into the air and shouts joyfully. “War!”
I turn to my Ma, who’s standing behind me, her broom laying forgotten on the ground. She looks pale and upset. “What are they saying ‘bout war, Mama?” I ask her, curiously.
“Nothing, dear,” Ma answers, her voice quivering slightly. She looks out the window, her expression distant and frightfully worrying. I don’t ask any more questions.
Later that evening, Charlie’s all suited up and ready to go. I stand sniffling in the corner as he kisses Ma goodbye, and hugs Papa tightly. Then he turns to me.
He smiles slightly and comes up to me, giving me a reassuring pat on the head. “You’ll be good to Ma and Pa, won’t you Danny?” he asks kindly.
I nod quickly, tears forming at my eyes. Charlie’s smile falters as he reaches out and wipes them away. He sighs. “Danny,” he starts, his tone soft but stern. “Danny, don’t cry. Be a man. The war will be over soon. We’ll whip those Yankees in a week, you hear me? A week.”
I nod, straightening my back and drying my tears clumsily. Charlie nods and gives me a long hug. I clutch him like I’ll never let go.
Finally, Charlie draws away. He smiles, and pats my blond curls again. “That’s a good boy. I’ll be home soon.” He kisses Ma and Pa goodbye again, and before I know it, he’s gone.
Two months pass. The sky is grey and rain splatters the ground. Charlie’s home for good.
Ma clutches my hand tightly, crying softly as Pa shovels him into the ground in front of the mourning crowd. Tears stream from my eyes and I bury my face in Ma’s coat. How could so much have changed? How?
I let out a sob as the funeral ends. My friends come up and try to comfort me, but I shove them away and run inside, trying to stop the tears. How could those Yankees take my brother away from me?
He was only nineteen.
“Danny?” Ma asks as she drops her hand gently onto my shoulder.
I look up at her. “The generals said Charlie was a hero,” I whisper.
“He was,” she nods slowly, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. She opens her mouth to continue but bursts into tears again.
I drop my head. He was a hero, and the Yankees will pay. “I’ll fight too, Ma,” I whisper a bit louder. “I’ll avenge Charlie.”
She steps back, shocked, and drops her hand. After a while, she regained her voice. “You’re too young, Danny,” she cries. “Don’t even think about it!”
“I will!” I yell back, stubborn. “I’m fifteen, and I’m going to fight! I have to!”
Pa comes over and gives me a long hug, while Ma stares at me with wide eyes.
“We’ll talk about this later, son. Later.” I can tell that, though it pains him, he understands. My heart pangs. I suddenly realize that if I fight, I may never get a hug from my Pa again. For Charlie. I promise myself that I will fight and avenge him. Or die in the process.
I kiss my Ma on the top of her head. I’m finally taller than her, now that I’ve gotten my growth spurt. In fact, I’d be Charlie’s height if he was still alive. The thought saddens me and I pull back from my mother.
Her hands tremble and she looks up at me. “Be careful, Danny.”
I hesitate to bind myself to such an oath. “I’ll be back soon. It won’t take long to kick the Yankees out of the state,” I try to reassure her, but she shakes her head.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, Danny. I- I don’t want you to-” she breaks off. I give her a sad look and a hug. “I’ll be careful,” I promise. I give my father a hug as well, and then I leave, the sun glittering off my musket and showing off my Confederate suit proudly.
We’re trudging across the fields under the hot glare of the Virginia summer sun.
“It isn’t this hot in Carolina,” the boy next to me complains. “I can’t wait until we lick those Yankees- then I can go home.” He pauses, then laughs. “It won’t take long, it won’t! The Yankees will run away cryin’ at the sight of us!”
A man next to me glares at the boy. I remember him from the camp last night. He has a long crooked nose and a quick tongue. “I wouldn’t joke if I was you, boy” he warned him. “You underestimate the power of battle. Last conflict I was in, the Yankees licked us, and I barely escaped with my life.”
There’s a short pause, the boy and I looking at each other with wide eyes as the man fiddles with his musket.
“I’ll be darned,” he mutters, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “That sun really is hot.” I nod in agreement, perspiration trickling down my neck.
Suddenly, there’s a loud clap of thunder that knocks me off my feet. A bullet flies past me and hits the man with the crooked nose. He screams before falling to the ground, dead.
Other men fall next to him. Their last cries haunt the air, which is muggy, thick, and hard to breathe through.
It’s the Yankees.
“Onward! Fight back!” The colonel’s words reach my ears but I can’t comprehend them. I fall to my knees in front of the man with the crooked nose, completely unbelieving. “No, no,” I keep repeating.
“He’s dead!” The boy next to me cries, pain reflecting in his eyes. “He’s dead, Danny, and he ain’t coming back!”
I look up at him with wide eyes. Can’t he understand? The men we drank with, laughed with, and hoped with… they’re not gone. They can’t be gone. The hot sun is too bright in my eyes. I turn away.
Blood splatters the ground near me. I cannot speak. I cannot move. I can barely even breathe through the humid air. I mustn’t think.
“Move!” The colonel’s words rush us forward and we yell a battle cry for our comrades as we charge the Yankees. I am carried along with the crowd of Confederates, which keep moving bravely into the manslaughter. The boy next to me falls dead, a bullet lodged in his chest. His cry rings in my ears. He was only fifteen.
His murderer stands ten feet in front of me, smirking slightly in his beautiful, crisp Yankee uniform as he aims at me next. Anger overcomes me, and before I think about what I’m doing, I swing my musket at him and launch a bullet. Laughing is the last thing he ever does.
Near him, a black man raises his rifle at me as if to fire. His blue suit is covered with dirt.
I barely have time to wonder what made him hate his old master so much that he’s willing to fight in a war against him.
It’s not smart to think about the enemy’s life in battle.
My hands tremble as I squeeze the trigger of my musket.
The effects of the shot make me fall back, but the man has it worse. His head snaps back, and blood flows from his neck as he falls and dies. His blood is as red as any man’s. I stumble back, my mind whirling. Who am I to take this person’s life? Who am I to fight in this battle? I’m not resourceful, smart, experienced, brave, and I’ve never been dedicated to the Confederation. I’ve only been dedicated to Charlie, I think, and his name reminds me why I’m fighting. Why, I killed a man. If Charlie saw me now, shocked and doubting after only one shot, he’d not be proud.
But I don’t care.
I run from the field, run as fast as I can. Shots are fired after me and I hear the colonel cursing, but I dodge the hurtful bullets and words. I hide in a hole until the end of the battle and I hear my comrades retreating. Then I join them, shame evident on my face.
The colonel finds me afterwards. He isn’t happy. “What was that, Rogers?” he barks roughly, shoving me. “Are you not a man?”
I wipe away any of my tears. “Twon’t happen again, sir,” I promise, my heart feeling cold and hard. “I swear on my honor as a Confederate, sir.”
Three promises that I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.
I turn to my Ma, who’s standing behind me, her broom laying forgotten on the ground. She looks pale and upset. “What are they saying ‘bout war, Mama?” I ask her, curiously.
“Nothing, dear,” Ma answers, her voice quivering slightly. She looks out the window, her expression distant and frightfully worrying. I don’t ask any more questions.
Later that evening, Charlie’s all suited up and ready to go. I stand sniffling in the corner as he kisses Ma goodbye, and hugs Papa tightly. Then he turns to me.
He smiles slightly and comes up to me, giving me a reassuring pat on the head. “You’ll be good to Ma and Pa, won’t you Danny?” he asks kindly.
I nod quickly, tears forming at my eyes. Charlie’s smile falters as he reaches out and wipes them away. He sighs. “Danny,” he starts, his tone soft but stern. “Danny, don’t cry. Be a man. The war will be over soon. We’ll whip those Yankees in a week, you hear me? A week.”
I nod, straightening my back and drying my tears clumsily. Charlie nods and gives me a long hug. I clutch him like I’ll never let go.
Finally, Charlie draws away. He smiles, and pats my blond curls again. “That’s a good boy. I’ll be home soon.” He kisses Ma and Pa goodbye again, and before I know it, he’s gone.
Two months pass. The sky is grey and rain splatters the ground. Charlie’s home for good.
Ma clutches my hand tightly, crying softly as Pa shovels him into the ground in front of the mourning crowd. Tears stream from my eyes and I bury my face in Ma’s coat. How could so much have changed? How?
I let out a sob as the funeral ends. My friends come up and try to comfort me, but I shove them away and run inside, trying to stop the tears. How could those Yankees take my brother away from me?
He was only nineteen.
“Danny?” Ma asks as she drops her hand gently onto my shoulder.
I look up at her. “The generals said Charlie was a hero,” I whisper.
“He was,” she nods slowly, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly. She opens her mouth to continue but bursts into tears again.
I drop my head. He was a hero, and the Yankees will pay. “I’ll fight too, Ma,” I whisper a bit louder. “I’ll avenge Charlie.”
She steps back, shocked, and drops her hand. After a while, she regained her voice. “You’re too young, Danny,” she cries. “Don’t even think about it!”
“I will!” I yell back, stubborn. “I’m fifteen, and I’m going to fight! I have to!”
Pa comes over and gives me a long hug, while Ma stares at me with wide eyes.
“We’ll talk about this later, son. Later.” I can tell that, though it pains him, he understands. My heart pangs. I suddenly realize that if I fight, I may never get a hug from my Pa again. For Charlie. I promise myself that I will fight and avenge him. Or die in the process.
I kiss my Ma on the top of her head. I’m finally taller than her, now that I’ve gotten my growth spurt. In fact, I’d be Charlie’s height if he was still alive. The thought saddens me and I pull back from my mother.
Her hands tremble and she looks up at me. “Be careful, Danny.”
I hesitate to bind myself to such an oath. “I’ll be back soon. It won’t take long to kick the Yankees out of the state,” I try to reassure her, but she shakes her head.
“Promise me you’ll be careful, Danny. I- I don’t want you to-” she breaks off. I give her a sad look and a hug. “I’ll be careful,” I promise. I give my father a hug as well, and then I leave, the sun glittering off my musket and showing off my Confederate suit proudly.
We’re trudging across the fields under the hot glare of the Virginia summer sun.
“It isn’t this hot in Carolina,” the boy next to me complains. “I can’t wait until we lick those Yankees- then I can go home.” He pauses, then laughs. “It won’t take long, it won’t! The Yankees will run away cryin’ at the sight of us!”
A man next to me glares at the boy. I remember him from the camp last night. He has a long crooked nose and a quick tongue. “I wouldn’t joke if I was you, boy” he warned him. “You underestimate the power of battle. Last conflict I was in, the Yankees licked us, and I barely escaped with my life.”
There’s a short pause, the boy and I looking at each other with wide eyes as the man fiddles with his musket.
“I’ll be darned,” he mutters, wiping a bead of sweat off his forehead. “That sun really is hot.” I nod in agreement, perspiration trickling down my neck.
Suddenly, there’s a loud clap of thunder that knocks me off my feet. A bullet flies past me and hits the man with the crooked nose. He screams before falling to the ground, dead.
Other men fall next to him. Their last cries haunt the air, which is muggy, thick, and hard to breathe through.
It’s the Yankees.
“Onward! Fight back!” The colonel’s words reach my ears but I can’t comprehend them. I fall to my knees in front of the man with the crooked nose, completely unbelieving. “No, no,” I keep repeating.
“He’s dead!” The boy next to me cries, pain reflecting in his eyes. “He’s dead, Danny, and he ain’t coming back!”
I look up at him with wide eyes. Can’t he understand? The men we drank with, laughed with, and hoped with… they’re not gone. They can’t be gone. The hot sun is too bright in my eyes. I turn away.
Blood splatters the ground near me. I cannot speak. I cannot move. I can barely even breathe through the humid air. I mustn’t think.
“Move!” The colonel’s words rush us forward and we yell a battle cry for our comrades as we charge the Yankees. I am carried along with the crowd of Confederates, which keep moving bravely into the manslaughter. The boy next to me falls dead, a bullet lodged in his chest. His cry rings in my ears. He was only fifteen.
His murderer stands ten feet in front of me, smirking slightly in his beautiful, crisp Yankee uniform as he aims at me next. Anger overcomes me, and before I think about what I’m doing, I swing my musket at him and launch a bullet. Laughing is the last thing he ever does.
Near him, a black man raises his rifle at me as if to fire. His blue suit is covered with dirt.
I barely have time to wonder what made him hate his old master so much that he’s willing to fight in a war against him.
It’s not smart to think about the enemy’s life in battle.
My hands tremble as I squeeze the trigger of my musket.
The effects of the shot make me fall back, but the man has it worse. His head snaps back, and blood flows from his neck as he falls and dies. His blood is as red as any man’s. I stumble back, my mind whirling. Who am I to take this person’s life? Who am I to fight in this battle? I’m not resourceful, smart, experienced, brave, and I’ve never been dedicated to the Confederation. I’ve only been dedicated to Charlie, I think, and his name reminds me why I’m fighting. Why, I killed a man. If Charlie saw me now, shocked and doubting after only one shot, he’d not be proud.
But I don’t care.
I run from the field, run as fast as I can. Shots are fired after me and I hear the colonel cursing, but I dodge the hurtful bullets and words. I hide in a hole until the end of the battle and I hear my comrades retreating. Then I join them, shame evident on my face.
The colonel finds me afterwards. He isn’t happy. “What was that, Rogers?” he barks roughly, shoving me. “Are you not a man?”
I wipe away any of my tears. “Twon’t happen again, sir,” I promise, my heart feeling cold and hard. “I swear on my honor as a Confederate, sir.”
Three promises that I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.
Thanks so much for reading these! Comment if you want more writing contests, and I hope to see you back on The Words Are Flowing.
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