She is immersed in that unbelieving moment even as more figures stumble in, and around her, a maelstrom of activity erupts. She is stillness until a voice screams: “Nurse, you bitch! I fucking need you, right here!”
Leila turns slow as agony turns away from Joseph-is-dead to lend her hands to another who is yet alive.
“NURSE! Stem this hemorrhage! NOW!” Her hands sink into the soft yielding mass of ruined flesh, she presses down. Against her fingers, she feels the malignant stubborn spurt of arterial blood. She presses down. It slows to a sullen trickle, then there are other hands pressing on hers, and she draws away, turns away.
She looks for him, for Joseph-is-dead. The boy on the stretcher has two legs, but his chest is the wrong shape for life. She sees it at a glance and goes to him. Joseph-is-dead, the droning voice in her head says. Joseph-is-dead.
Finally, they stop coming, they stop dying. Those that can be saved are borne away, and she walks outside.
Maybe outside, far from the sweet ripe odor of torn flesh and gangrene and death Joseph won’t be dead. She steps outside and sees the thin man sitting on the ground.
There is blood on him, blood and dust. He looks up at her.
“I saw you once, at Solomon’s shop…With him. The American.”
Leila nods. “Yes.”
The thin man whispers “This is not real, did you know? I discovered that at the camp. None of it is real. There is no death or dirt. I sing a song and it goes away.” He starts humming something off-tune, in a guttural tongue. He nods his head in time, wobbling it from side to side on his long thin neck.
Leila turns away, falls back into the nightmare, wakes up still remembering, still sane.
Leila turns slow as agony turns away from Joseph-is-dead to lend her hands to another who is yet alive.
“NURSE! Stem this hemorrhage! NOW!” Her hands sink into the soft yielding mass of ruined flesh, she presses down. Against her fingers, she feels the malignant stubborn spurt of arterial blood. She presses down. It slows to a sullen trickle, then there are other hands pressing on hers, and she draws away, turns away.
She looks for him, for Joseph-is-dead. The boy on the stretcher has two legs, but his chest is the wrong shape for life. She sees it at a glance and goes to him. Joseph-is-dead, the droning voice in her head says. Joseph-is-dead.
Finally, they stop coming, they stop dying. Those that can be saved are borne away, and she walks outside.
Maybe outside, far from the sweet ripe odor of torn flesh and gangrene and death Joseph won’t be dead. She steps outside and sees the thin man sitting on the ground.
There is blood on him, blood and dust. He looks up at her.
“I saw you once, at Solomon’s shop…With him. The American.”
Leila nods. “Yes.”
The thin man whispers “This is not real, did you know? I discovered that at the camp. None of it is real. There is no death or dirt. I sing a song and it goes away.” He starts humming something off-tune, in a guttural tongue. He nods his head in time, wobbling it from side to side on his long thin neck.
Leila turns away, falls back into the nightmare, wakes up still remembering, still sane.
MC
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