10 Pictures

Irish Champions, Mike O'Malley, Irish, Photo

Canadian Rowers, Lindsay Mayer, Japanese, Photo

Marines in Fallujah, Pat Dollard, American, Photo

Blackhawks Score, Jonathon Roewhick, American Photo

Italian National Team, Chris Pearson, Italian, Photo

Argentina wins 7, Jonathon stones, Austrailian, Photo

Bruins take another bite out of Philly, Mike Mcdermott, Photograph, American

Building For the Long Haul, Jeremy Harris, Photograph, American

Consturction Workers on Canary Wharf Tower, Victor Watts, Photograph, British

Four men and women helping woman over wall on assault course, Photograph, Manchan, Nationality Unknown

Narrative 5

It was gray and muddy the morning Rosen got hit. Me, him, and Nick Lee were patrolling one of the muddy streets of Neong, a city we had been stationed at for awhile. While quietly chatting about home, the war, and people back at camp, our conversation was interrupted by a sudden crack of faraway rifle. We quickly flopped into a nearby ditch and and took a second to catch our breath .”Anyone get hit?” I asked after a few tense moments.“ A better question is where our shooter is,” Lee said and nearly got hit by a bullet that whistled by as he risked his head for a glance. “We need to get out of here” Rosen said. “You got any ideas?” I asked him. “Yeah, I'll run for those houses to the right, once he shoots at me, you guys go for the house on the left, we'll meet in the alley” he answered. “Are you crazy? You're gonna get killed man,” Lee said in response. “You got any better plans?” And with that Rosen ran out of the ditch. When he was about halfway across the street we started moving, and to my right I saw Rosen who was nearly there and I though he was going to to make it without getting hit. I thought wrong, as just as Rosen was nearing the house the rifle cracked again and Rosen span about and fell behind the house with a yell. Me and Lee had reached safety and we went through the alley to get Rosen. We found him there holding his bleeding thigh and gasping. “Jesus man, what did I tell you” Lee said as we ran over to him. “I don't think i'll be able to move on my own, help me up” Rosen told us. Lee bandaged up his leg and we slowly helped him to his feet, me and Lee keeping him up as best as we could. We made our way out of the small alleyway, making sure we didn't move from out behind the houses. As we neared camp we helped Rosen over to the medics. “Guess you took one for the team this time, eh Rosen?” The medic had asked. “Yeah so it seems” Rosen managed to say. “ Thanks for bringing me back guys” Rosen said as he laid down. “ We should be the ones thanking you, saved us all.” I told him with a grin.

Narrative 4

The throngs of people in the stadium were roaring as Mr. Pierce hoisted me high into the air, above his team and into the deafening noise above us. Though he was the only one holding me up, it was not him alone that brought me into his arms. No, it was everyone, from the coach, to the bench players, to the starters, they all did it, and they all earned me. Each of them were so happy to see me, so excited, so jovial, just as they always are. But their opposition was quite the opposite, crushed, frustrated, upset beyond measure, but the only thing to blame were themselves, failing to work as well as the well oiled machine that was Mr. Pierce's Celtics. You see, they only depended on a few talented players to win, and because of that it was the men in green that were the ones to embrace and touch me. But only minutes before, I sat in a back room, patiently waiting to be given to the victor. I heard the yells of the crowd, the whistles, and lastly the buzzer that signaled that the game was over. I was then taken out of the room and into flashing lights and colors. Looking up at the scoreboard, I saw that these fans would go home very happy, as BOS scored 40 more points than VIS. I heard that it was a very good game for Boston, with the man holding me playing unselfishly, passing the ball, helping his team, relying on his team. That was what made them win in my opinion, that the team relied on each other, not just one man. As the cheers rained down on us, our procession made it's way into the locker room, where Champagne bottles popped and fizzed onto me and those few men were nearly as loud as the 20,000 outside, with their yells and their happiness. They hugged each other, congratulated each other, told other what an honor it was to be on the same team as one another, it was a very happy day for all of them, you could just feel it by being in the room. Lots of couldn't have done it without yous and we're the best in the worlds were thrown about. But in the midst of all the noise, I sat silently, patiently waiting to be in the trophy case in the stadium, next to other copies of myself, where I would sit and be admired by fans to come for many, many years. A mute testament to the teamwork and hard work that went into that game.