This week wasn't good for writing, since some rather depressing RL news put the kibosh on my creativity for most of it. But I managed to scrape out a few lines to finish off the next section of my World War I fic-fill, so now I've got my main character out of the trench and into the field hospital for treatment:
**************
Abruptly, the cool damp cloth was whisked away, and the first thing he saw when his eyes flew open was a strange woman's face, framed by the white cap that completely covered her hair. She was talking to him, saying words that he couldn't quite understand, but when she bent over him he was able to follow her movement with his eyes --
-- and that was one dislocated left shoulder. Right out of the socket, by the look of it.
His breath was still coming short, so he gritted his teeth and did his best to grin up at the nurse hovering over him. Her eyes were wide with concern, and he wanted to tell her that it wasn't anything to worry about, that he could pop the old joint back into place himself in a jiffy, but the words didn't seem to want to come out of his mouth. Not in any way that made sense, at least. His first attempt was nothing more than a weak moan; his second attempt sounded like gibberish. And he was all prepared to make a third attempt, because he knew that he had the right words in him somewhere, but his head hurt, and his chest hurt, and his arm hurt, and it was so much easier to just lie still and close his eyes again and not say anything at all.
no subject
**************
Abruptly, the cool damp cloth was whisked away, and the first thing he saw when his eyes flew open was a strange woman's face, framed by the white cap that completely covered her hair. She was talking to him, saying words that he couldn't quite understand, but when she bent over him he was able to follow her movement with his eyes --
-- and that was one dislocated left shoulder. Right out of the socket, by the look of it.
His breath was still coming short, so he gritted his teeth and did his best to grin up at the nurse hovering over him. Her eyes were wide with concern, and he wanted to tell her that it wasn't anything to worry about, that he could pop the old joint back into place himself in a jiffy, but the words didn't seem to want to come out of his mouth. Not in any way that made sense, at least. His first attempt was nothing more than a weak moan; his second attempt sounded like gibberish. And he was all prepared to make a third attempt, because he knew that he had the right words in him somewhere, but his head hurt, and his chest hurt, and his arm hurt, and it was so much easier to just lie still and close his eyes again and not say anything at all.