/lit/ - Literature

The curse of the nurse is those of which they treat, of which they care and took care every day and every night. Molly Molly was a nurse, a young nurse I should add, twenty-years and there she was, in the ward, near the field.
It was a time of worries, a time in which the ward was filled with nothing but sorrow and most people hardly had a tomorrow. Every laying man and dying one had its eyes fixed on the door, the small wooden door of the entrance (cracked, broken), through which a few men would come every day. Pain for the patients, hope for the just injured; too many people with not enough care. It was not secret even if not spoken out loud, every person did not want more to come and wished they'd rather die on they field that come to their side. They were selfish and more than they should, but not intentionally much more less than they tried, for laying with the sick in war ward was not as healthy as it should and those diseases you did not have you will share with your ward-mates now or later.
Now Molly didn't have any training, didn't have even will. She was there, at the ward, merely because she was already there before. All of it just happened around her, without her knowing at first, without her wanting at last. On the day of the cupid is that she broke, suddenly, without warning at all. No training nor knowledge she had so she couldn't do much, and she didn't she knew. But it was a matter of time, to grow up just like she did. Not the best for sure, but the only she had.
They call it maturing, they call it puberty, they call it whatever. A progress, like a line, in which every one take part. But it doesn't happen that way where she was, maybe it was rejection for self-protection or maybe it was conscious and self-deception. She was there, in the smoke, in the flash of the day and the wake of the night; knowing who you are may not be the best there, may not be the best to ask and to pray and to wonder "why am I here?". So she didn't ran the line and stayed instead, like a cheap bloom which didn't grew much but filled just as well. The day out the cupid it happen'd, not like a ha but like a snap, like a bomb in the head that explode like a bam. Shaking hands and crying eyes she had that night as fire through her nerves seemed to run, night that if she were to be taking care of her duty she'd have been sent to the yard, light a smoke and return, something she learned at the very late age of thirteen just there at the ward.

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Melissa Raunch