(( A/N: This actually wasn't a story I did for my creative writing class, but my American history class. We were allowed to get creative with our projects, so one time, I decided to write a short story. Honestly I wish I could've added more to this, but I didn't have time so I had to make things brief at some parts.
This takes place during the Vietnam War. ))

September 14th, 1967
Hello, my name is Gloria Wilson. I just started this diary today. I got it for my birthday five months ago, but didn't actually need it until now. I'm fifteen years old, and live with my mother, father, and older brother Thomas. Thomas is three years older than me, and got done with school three months ago. He just got his draft letter the other day for the war against Vietnam.
Father and mother told me this was a good thing, so it must be, right? Father was angry when Thomas refused to volunteer once getting out of school.
"That boy's never been soft!" I remember him yelling. "Why won't he be the man he is and go fight against those d*mned yellow men!"
Father and mother don't know Thomas like I do. Thomas is tough, yes, but he isn't a brute. He is very sweet deep down, a side he really only shows to me and very few other people. We're so close, we still share a room even after all these years.
"I couldn't pick up a gun and shoot an innocent man." He told me after that fight with father.
"But, they aren't innocent," I said back. "They're communists."
"Communists, yes. But communists defending their country. Some of them may not even be communists, just men fighting for their homeland."
I decided not to argue with him. I didn't understand him, but there was no need to keep fighting with him. He stuck with that mindset.
But now, he's going to the belly of the war. So, I'm going to try and spend as much time with him as I can before he goes. That's all I have to write for now.

September 17th, 1967
I still remember Thomas's face when he left. The soft, sad smile has been making me think for the past few days. I can't even begin to explain how it makes me feel...
Today, my friend Sharon and I had an...interesting conversation at the end of one of our classes..
"Your brother got drafted, didn't he?"
"Yeah, he did. He left a few days ago, remember?"
"Mmhm..."
She then went on to explain a bunch of things, it was almost like a rant. It was mostly about things I already knew, like the bombing and protests. She mostly talked about all the bad stuff in Vietnam, how many casualties there were and such.
"But, isn't that good?" I asked her.
"Of course not!" She retaliated. "They are innocent people fighting for their freedom just like we did back in the 1700's!"
"Yeah, but they're communists."
I didn't understand why she looked so angry at me. Though, she luckily got it out of her system quickly with a sigh.
"Let me put it this way then... Our people are dying too, Gloria. For a war that we shouldn't be fighting. And yes, our enemies are communists, but is that really all we're fighting them for?"
The bell rang before I could answer her, but even now I don't know how I could've. Sharon always knew how to grab my tongue like that.
I remember telling my parents about the conversation at dinner, and my father yelled at me for using such words, swearing and using slurs.
Tonight was the first night I ever stood up against him.
I knew he was going to hit me if I didn't leave fast, so I quickly went to my room without finishing the rest of my dinner.
Later, mother came into my room to talk to me. Though, it was about keeping my opinions to myself and not argue against men and how I would need to grow into a good wife for my future husband and...it disgusted me. I doubted her for the first time too.
Everything took a huge turn in one day...but is that what it's supposed to be? Thomas always told me everything happens for a reason. It feels like he's the only one I can truly trust anymore.

October 21st, 1967
Sharon has truly taught me a lot, and has convinced me why it's best to become a dove. She's told me about all the protests and why we need them, why we should be democratic but not support our president. It's truly been a learning experience for me.
My parents are truly in the wrong, but they don't know I think that of course. I wouldn't hear the end of it.
Today on the TV, they told about how 100,000 protestors gathered at the Lincoln Memorial, and how later on, 30,000 of them marched to the pentagon. They told about how many people were arrested, including Norman Mailer, who was an anti-war author. I'll have to ask Sharon about him.
Speaking of both those things, Sharon even asked if I wanted to be part of a protest she and a few others were scheduling in about a week or so. I declined. Don't get me wrong, I really want to be a part of that, but mother and father would never let me go. And it'd be worse if I snuck out. They would surely know if I was gone, right?
Maybe I could one day...  I really hope I can...
Maybe I could even get Thomas out of this mess...

November 17th 1967
A few days ago, Sharon and I discussed the numbers of the war. By numbers, I mean of dollars, wounded men, drafted men, and the biggest one, casualties.
Twenty five billion dollars wasted each year, forty thousand men drafted each month, one hundred thousand wounded...and fifteen thousand killed. What if Thomas was one of those casualties? He was already one of the poor forty thousand. One of the peacekeepers drafted into war.
With these thoughts, I knew I had enough.
Tonight will be my first protest, where I'll be sneaking out. It's perfect, too, since they'll both be out and not home until late. I just told them I would be studying.
I have a sign ready and everything, Sharon has already told me where to meet and who else would be there.
Though I still can't help but think of my big brother. Thomas, I'm praying for you.

January 12th, 1968
I don't care anymore. I told mother and father my thoughts on the war. I'm tired of hiding myself from them. They can do whatever they want to me, but that won't keep me from thinking how I do, and I'll make my way to the protests somehow. They can be angry all they want. I don't care.
Sharon always jokes on how I should run away and come live with her and her hippie parents, but I honestly wish I could. I hate living in a house where I'm martyred.

March 20th, 1968
We finally got a letter from Thomas. He told us all about what had happened when he got there. He told us about the friends he'd made, and how within a few days the had been killed in war. He told us of the many dangers in the foreign country, like the Viet Cong and tigers and elephant grass. But the thing that made me ponder, however, was the fact he told us he had heard that a tragedy took place a few days ago, but he had no idea what it was or where it was. He ended in off on how he'd probably be home in December of 1969 or January of 1970.
Sharon even questioned the tragedy part of the letter that I told her about. She seemed very understandably worried.
However, in the end, she smiled at me and said "At least Thomas is still alive."

March 25th, 1968
This is the first year that Thomas isn't with me on my birthday. It was unsettling.
We always did something special together. This year, nothing special happened. Father and mother only made me a small cake and gave me a few presents that weren't very meaningful, barely speaking to me as they normally did.
The day that is supposed to be the best birthday of my life was the worst birthday of my life.

August 9th, 1968
This year has got to be the worst in American history...
Two great men assassinated, and the war still raging on. We still get letters from Thomas, but we never know if he's even still alive when that message arrives.
The other day, one of the guys we protest with, a hippie who's named Alex, offered me to try MJ with him. He knew I wasn't myself lately, and said it would help me relax. So, I tried it, and...he was right. I felt better afterwards, and I asked him who his dealer was.
Sharon was completely shocked, and said I shouldn't do those things.
"If it's coming from me, someone whose parents who are toking it all the time, then you should listen."
I did, but I didn't want to change my mind. I can't help it, that was the happiest I felt in a long time. Maybe Thomas could talk me out of such a thing, but he's not here, and he may never come back.
So, Alex will take me to his dealer sometime next week.

February 5th, 1969
I'm finally out of that dark point in my life.
I quit smoking, with Sharon's help. Alex unfortunately died because he overdosed on tar. Sharon also helped me through my self esteem issues, and it's truly been a good thing. Ever since I started dressing nicely again, I've heard boys call me a fox. I've never been called that before!
Thomas still writes letters to us, and I no longer fear that he'll die. I have faith now that he'll come back home alive.
Everything is falling back into place again.

November 29th, 1969
I now know what the tragedy Thomas talked about in his first letter was.
A story was released of a covered up massacre in a village called My Lai, how five hundred  innocent people were killed and many women had despicable things done to them. A reasonable outrage has been sparked.
Sharon showed her anger the day after the news.
"That was it. That was what Thomas was talking about," She said. "He knew, didn't he? He's no better than them. Those scum."
I agreed with her.
Tonight we're going on another protest, but there's one thing that won't be on my mind tonight.
Thomas. He's dead to me.
I don't care if he dies anymore.

January 2nd, 1970
Today Thomas came home.
He seemed so happy to see me, hugging me once he saw me, but I quickly pushed him away. I didn't speak to him, I didn't even look at him.
I could tell by his aura that he was hurt, but I didn't care. We have to share our room again, but we didn't speak.
I hope to keep it that way.

January 8th, 1970
Thomas had kept repeatedly trying to talk to me over the course of the few days, but I refused to speak...
...Until today.
Today, I saw something that horrified me. He had some kind of flashback or anxiety attack or...something. He was yelling things I didn't understand, but what scared me the most...he was crying.
I had never seen him cry before.
Father and mother were concerned, but I was the first one who stepped in to help. They stepped in afterwards, and we were all able to calm him down. Afterwards, Thomas and I went to our room to, for the first time in years, have an actual conversation with each other.
He told me everything, and about how he eventually found out about My Lai. I couldn't tell you how much he apologized for an event he wasn't even at, or how many times he bursted into tears again. This was him, the soft, kind, peace loving side of him. For the first time in years, I finally hugged him again, with him hugging back.
My brother isn't a monster, and the fact that he's still alive is a miracle.

January 20th, 1970
Today, Sharon began mouthing off about my brother again, and I finally go the guts to stick up to her. I told her I didn't hate him, and that she had no right to speak of him that way.
She reminded me of the massacre, and how Thomas is "one of them". However, I retaliated.
"If you can't respect him, you can't respect me, and that means we aren't friends anymore."
She was shocked to hear me say this.
The bell rang, and then I left the room, along with my friendship.

May 6th, 1970
Two days ago, innocent students were shot in our own country, all because of a protest of a war we shouldn't even be fighting.
A peace gathering is happening tonight, bringing along signs of protests, to mourn those who died at Kent State University. However, for the first time, I'm not going with Sharon. Our friendship ended the day I stuck up to her, and she never spoke to me again.
But it doesn't matter, because tonight Thomas is going with me. He even made his own sign. Father and mother seem to be fine with it now, almost as if seeing Thomas's anxiety attack suddenly clicked something in their minds. Everything seems better now.
I couldn't be happier than to march to a protest with my favorite person by my side.

~End~