Fragments Gallery
Drifting Away
The ground lifted away beneath him. People scurried all around their voices loud and grating in his ears. Although they spoke, and he knew they spoke English, he had no idea what their words meant. Every word just echoed around in his head as meaningless gibberish. A small part of his mind silently screamed in frustration, that part needed to hear those words; it needed to know how bad it was.
However the rest of his mind had gone numb. His thoughts were sluggish and simple. The last clear memory he had was of a loud noise sharply splitting the air. After that everything seemed fuzzy.
He must have fallen to the ground because he could vaguely recall being lifted from the dirt to a flat surface. There he had briefly been shaken and bounced as the surface below had moved, every movement had been agony. After a bit the surface had gentled, either that or he had lost some of the feeling in his body. A short while later he had been moved again and here he lay now.
He'd been shot; he must have been. It was the only thing that made sense.
His eyes opened only to partially close again to shield him from the blinding light. People were crowded around him, some he recognized but others he did not. One whom he did not know said something, at least the other man's lips moved and he attempted to lock gazes. The other man wore white clothing and apron as well as a white cap and mask which he pulled on when the injured man failed to respond. Maybe he was some kind of doctor. The injured man's eyes drifted shut; the scene around him didn't make any sense anyways. It meant nothing to him.
Blackness beckoned to him and he gratefully heeded its call. The pain dulled as he drifted off to sleep.