~First Day~
Angelie
When I was pulled from the streets and into the military, I didn’t know that I was going to be shoved into a battlefield, and a bloody one at that. Every day after that, blood covered the hospital beds made out of mounds of dirt, and what mattresses we had were for generals only, not injured or sick.
Every night was filled with terror, in fear of the enemy attacking. Every gunshot threatened defeat. Every cannon-fire was for our demise. Coats were blood-soaked, the dead being eaten by stray bugs. Each battle suffered defeat and loss, but some battles were full of victory and winning. How many more days until I die? Will I die in battle or disease, torture or suicide? Every time I thought about it was a mystery.
300 died today, I count. 563 injured. The suffering never stops. Sometimes, I feel like a wildebeest being chased by a lion or something: tortured, hiding, fighting for life. The second I left home, I was in danger. Then again, the streets were my home, living next to rats and spending the night in the soup kitchen. Every time I let my guard down, there’s a chance I will die…
“Medic! Get back to work! DO YOU HEAR ME??”, said the commissioner.
I realized I am daydreaming. Shoved into a world of realism. I go back to work. When I saw who was lying on the dirt mound I took care of, I nearly faint. It was my best friend, Lizzie, and I shrieked.
“GET TO WORK, MEDIC!”, called Commissioner.
Lizzie was bleeding heavily, so I knew a bullet hit an artery. She would've bled to death if I didn't stop it.
She shrieked when I pull out tweezers from my apron. Lizzie shut her eyes tight, as if she wanted to go to a magical land of peace and wonder, and I felt sorry for her. Each twitch of my tweezers scared me for life. After about three minutes of careful extraction of a bullet, she woke up in a cold sweat.
Lizzie’s my best friend. She met me in the soup kitchen. Back then, she was skin and bones drinking soup like a black hole. She was never full, and I just pulled a BULLET out of her! If you’re me, your life is gonna be in for a blow; no home, no family, and no friends except Lizzie. Life outside war has taken it’s toll on me. This war is gonna be even harsher, because we’re up against a lot of unknown forces.
Later that night, a black rat followed me into a bloody dirt mattress, my bed, for warmth. I let him slide in next to my hand and it tucked itself into my apron pocket. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Rumor has it the opposing army is having trouble with diseased rats biting them. At least this one’s friendly. I think. Lizzie spotted me with the rat in my pocket and asked me about it.
“What are you doing with that? In the streets, you would have instantly killed it and ate it just to get a quick bite!” Lizzie exclaimed. She looked very surprised and I remember that she wasn't asleep.
“I don’t know…. it just seems that the rat just wants a place to live in peace, just like me.” I tried to explain, half to myself. This war was turning me into someone entirely different.
Angelie
When I was pulled from the streets and into the military, I didn’t know that I was going to be shoved into a battlefield, and a bloody one at that. Every day after that, blood covered the hospital beds made out of mounds of dirt, and what mattresses we had were for generals only, not injured or sick.
Every night was filled with terror, in fear of the enemy attacking. Every gunshot threatened defeat. Every cannon-fire was for our demise. Coats were blood-soaked, the dead being eaten by stray bugs. Each battle suffered defeat and loss, but some battles were full of victory and winning. How many more days until I die? Will I die in battle or disease, torture or suicide? Every time I thought about it was a mystery.
300 died today, I count. 563 injured. The suffering never stops. Sometimes, I feel like a wildebeest being chased by a lion or something: tortured, hiding, fighting for life. The second I left home, I was in danger. Then again, the streets were my home, living next to rats and spending the night in the soup kitchen. Every time I let my guard down, there’s a chance I will die…
“Medic! Get back to work! DO YOU HEAR ME??”, said the commissioner.
I realized I am daydreaming. Shoved into a world of realism. I go back to work. When I saw who was lying on the dirt mound I took care of, I nearly faint. It was my best friend, Lizzie, and I shrieked.
“GET TO WORK, MEDIC!”, called Commissioner.
Lizzie was bleeding heavily, so I knew a bullet hit an artery. She would've bled to death if I didn't stop it.
She shrieked when I pull out tweezers from my apron. Lizzie shut her eyes tight, as if she wanted to go to a magical land of peace and wonder, and I felt sorry for her. Each twitch of my tweezers scared me for life. After about three minutes of careful extraction of a bullet, she woke up in a cold sweat.
Lizzie’s my best friend. She met me in the soup kitchen. Back then, she was skin and bones drinking soup like a black hole. She was never full, and I just pulled a BULLET out of her! If you’re me, your life is gonna be in for a blow; no home, no family, and no friends except Lizzie. Life outside war has taken it’s toll on me. This war is gonna be even harsher, because we’re up against a lot of unknown forces.
Later that night, a black rat followed me into a bloody dirt mattress, my bed, for warmth. I let him slide in next to my hand and it tucked itself into my apron pocket. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Rumor has it the opposing army is having trouble with diseased rats biting them. At least this one’s friendly. I think. Lizzie spotted me with the rat in my pocket and asked me about it.
“What are you doing with that? In the streets, you would have instantly killed it and ate it just to get a quick bite!” Lizzie exclaimed. She looked very surprised and I remember that she wasn't asleep.
“I don’t know…. it just seems that the rat just wants a place to live in peace, just like me.” I tried to explain, half to myself. This war was turning me into someone entirely different.