Young Writers Society

Field Hospital, Somewhere in Western Europe

May 3rd 10:00 p.m.

Year Unknown

A scream, yes a scream, it would have been my first sound in I don’t know how long if it wasn’t for the pain. A sharp stabbing that rolled over my body in massive tsunamis. Then, for some reason I can’t understand, it began to leave. It went from tsunamis to large waves; then ending in the small waves that ruin your sand castle on the beach.

When the pain ended and I could actually focus, I tried to move. It didn’t go as planned; I knew it would be hard. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Try lifting a grown draft horse and you get the idea.

After that failed, I realized there were bandages covering my entire body. I figured the best thing to do would be to shut myself off from the world and think about the events that literally detonated on me.

Field Hospital, Somewhere in Western Europe

May 3rd 12 noon

Year Unknown

It was hot as a sauna and we were working, working to save a man’s life. Yes, I was here trying to fit my six’ ten” frame in a six’ one” white canvas tent that smelled of blood, sweat, chloroform, and pain. Yet here I am, holding a chloroform soaked rag over the mouth and nose of the patient, an officer. I looked at the man’s leg with a worried look, hoping he would make it through. Then I saw the surgeon standing there with a pair of bloody forceps and an iron bowl filled with blood covered lead shot and bits of bone. This unfortunate soldier had led an attack on the fortified city we were laying siege to. His legs had been ripped apart by a weapon I swear the Devil invented and gave to man, canister shot.

Canister shot to be simple is a wooden canister filled with lead slugs. When loaded and fired from our cannons; well, let’s not get too detailed and say it’s the same damage you get from shooting a man point blank with a shotgun on a larger scale.

Then, I heard a sound that would haunt me for the rest of my life. It was a massive WHUMP! I knew instantly what that was, even an idiot could tell that it was not a cannon, it was a very large mortar. I knew the kinds of damage these Devils’s spawn could cause. I’d seen the bodies: limbs blown off, people cut in half, men mutilated to the point that not even God would recognize them. I had a bad feeling where this one was going.

I heard the warning yells, the sound of the ripping canvas, and the heavy thunk of the round on the table. It landed and crushed the surgeon’s hand and severed what was left of the officer’s leg. Then, it detonated. I felt my body cut by the hot metal and wood with the same deadly simplicity a bayonet spears a man.

As I lay there bleeding, dying, the other medical teams carrying me out of the ruined tent. I see the destroyed and mutilated body of my brother, John was that officer.

One Year Later (give or take a few days)

Paris, France

Medical University, Auditorium

June 9th, 11:30 a.m.

Those horrible events kept playing in my head like a 12 hour opera. (Just trust me on this one, one of those is not the best way to spend an afternoon.) I just kept seeing the bodies so much you would think I’d lost my mind. Some days I wish I had so I could get out of this world. Others I wished that my life would have gone to Heaven with John’s. Hey, who am I kidding, I should he happy I’m alive.

I suddenly was awoken by someone shaking my shoulder and saying my name. “Dryden, Dryden, DRYDEN wake up”, a man was saying in a strange accent. I suddenly realized what it was, English.

“Shoot”, I said almost louder than a whisper. I bolted straight up in my chair, pausing only to look at the very embarrassing drool stain on my brown wool jacket.