Shoulders back, head up. Look him in the eyes. The slow, drawn-out breaths from the air-tank are the only sounds filling the room. No, someone sniffles, a tear runs down a cheek; it’s my mother, it’s my sister. Stay strong. His bloated stomach moves with the sounds, in and out, out of his control. His flat chest quivers, I can see his heart-beating, I can feel mine. His legs lay motionless for the first time in many years. He was always moving. Moving ships off the coast of Korea and Vietnam. Out of the orphanage, out of poverty. He carried his family across international borders, across state lines, always in the right direction. What do I have to carry? He was a hero. He is a hero. He doesn’t have long. Neither do I. 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4. Walk in step, be calm. My brother looks on from the couch, at the ground. My dad stands off to the side, breathing in unison with the air tank, his eyes trained on the life source. My mother and my sister hold each other close in the …show more content…
The moments I wrote about were of strong emotion, and if I had interviewed them about this, they probably wouldn’t have told me the whole truth, so I felt I needed to take it into my own hands to express the true emotions in that room. Also, in terms of my section, it was not that black and white, and I do remember some elements of what it was like in the room, but I do not remember what I said to my Papa, (which inspired me to write this), and the passage I wrote most accurately conveys how I felt even if there are elements of fiction in