Now that I look back, I find that it was not just resilience in the face of misfortune.
If luck were a person, he would say: I have poured countless blessings on Damian, and yet he is pessimistic and desperate, so he deserves to be rebuked and blamed.
Even Paul himself, when he was fed up with him, avoided sitting with him for an entire month, and used to call him: “Idiot!” crazy!
And the bullets ring out closer than before.
Damian started running, but the sounds of guns kept getting closer, and his legs felt heavy like bullets.
Fuck!
A bullet escaped and passed alongside his left ear.
It did not hit him directly, but he felt heat in his ear as if it had been stung.
He quickly wiped its place with his left hand while he was still running, and a thought came to him:
'This is how I die.'
The word "death" came to his mind like a stab wound, and his heart was disturbed and began to beat like crazy.
If the bullet had deflected a hair's breadth to the right, it would have shattered his head instantly.
He survived only by luck.
But how long does this luck last?
Bullets chase him from behind him, and he runs away, but not to where his comrades are stationed, but to the other side.
He flees alone, and there is a whole battalion there.
Even if he tries to hide, he will not be safe from being exposed.
His right arm, which was severely injured, could not handle a weapon.
'Is this the final blow?'
Damian smiled a cruel smile, not knowing why it left his lips, it just came out.
However, she did not carry the burden off his chest.
'This time, death is really close.'
How the war field was called the valley of destruction!
What is the wonder that he perished in it?
'Is this how I died then?
At the end of this war, in my last battle?
I wouldn't have encouraged him to see what was at the end with his own eyes...
But do I have a duty left to perform?
Was my soul so dear to me that I would be afraid to lose it?
No harm then...'
Then he shook his head in denial.
'There's no harm, yes...but that doesn't mean I want to die.
I have to run more, and cheat to survive.
Perhaps, if I were granted a period of time to catch my breath, I would find in thought a way out of life...'
But the blood that flowed from him made him lose his clarity of mind, and his thoughts scattered like pieces.
As he tried to bring himself back into focus, a voice pierced the air.
It was not a whistle as fast as a bullet, but rather slower and heavier.
Damian turned quickly, and his eyes saw a body coming towards him.
The scene seemed slow to him, as if time had slowed down, until he could clearly see his image.
It's a grenade!
She was moving towards him faster than he was running, much faster.
'As for this, there is no escape from it.'
When death first occurred to him, his heart was frantic.
But now, with danger present, he looked at the bomb with calm eyes.
He is accustomed to facing the harshest moments and has traces of asceticism that allow him to rule the mind.
However, this time neither reason nor planning will work.
'There is no escape.
If there is no escape, then death...
This is not something I did not expect...'
There he imagined that he heard a voice that should not have been heard:
“If you die in the field, I will sincerely cry and scream for you.”
Words someone once said to him, or so he thinks.
An unknown voice, but it was the voice he had always imagined.
His lips trembled and he muttered:
“Lin… -Ri...”
Then the voice whispered again:
“Return to me in peace, so that I may meet you alive.”
'...I don't want to die.'
This is what his heart said unconsciously, and as soon as this confession resonated in his conscience, a huge explosion rang out, and complete darkness enveloped him.
He felt light seeping through his eyelids.
He wanted to fall asleep again, but the pain suddenly flared up in his body, so he seized consciousness and opened his eyes while groaning:
"Ahh…"
His voice came out hoarse, and he tasted iron in his throat.
The pain was ravaging his limbs until he wished he could return to his coma.
He started panting and fluttering his eyelids.
Little by little, the fog lifted from his sight, and he could see what was around him.
The first thing he saw was a window opposite him, through which sunlight was pouring.
It seems to be noon.
Then he turned around and saw bright white walls, and next to him were two empty beds lined up.
There was the smell of medicine and alcohol in the air.
'hospital…?'
He didn't understand why he was here.
He tried to regain his last consciousness: a forest... thick smoke... running until his lungs were torn apart... then a bomb... and he thought his end had come.
'So did I die?' No, the place is not like the world of death.
Rather, he is from the world of the living.'
'If this is a hospital, there must be a bell to call doctors...'
He looked around, but did not see him.
Maybe it's on the pillow.
He tried to raise his right hand, but the body did not obey him.
He extended his other hand and leaned on his elbow until he was half-sitting, then he extended his right hand to feel for the bell...
“What…!”
He suddenly gasped, and his eyes rolled tremblingly.
His right shirt sleeve was hanging empty, swinging in the air.
He reached out with his trembling hand and grabbed the sleeve.
He felt the fabric, but could not find anything to fill it.
He quickly pulled the cloth up, and his arm was amputated from below the shoulder!
He opened his mouth, then closed it, and looked around as if in shock, as if his arm had fallen somewhere nearby!
But the place is empty.
Nevertheless, he tried to get up and search, but his strength failed him, so he rolled from the bed to the floor with a noise.
"Ah…"
A new pain penetrated his being.
His body was already burning with pain, but the impact increased his torment.
While he was writhing and groaning, he heard footsteps, and the door opened.
"Oh my God!
Sick!"
A nurse quickly entered and quickly supported him until she returned him to his bed.
She said gently:
"Are you awake?
Rest, don't move."
Damian lay weakly, coughed dryly, and then asked in a broken voice:
“Where… am I?”
She replied:
"You're in a hospital."
He knew that, but what he didn't understand: How had he been transported from the battlefield to here?
The fighting took place in a remote place where people did not live.
While the question was hesitating in his mind, the nurse began arranging the bottles hanging from the tubes in his arm, then said:
"The doctor will come shortly and explain the matter to you."
He said eagerly:
"But…"
His desire to know his fate was too strong for him to be patient.
When the nurse saw him tense, she extended her hand and patted his hand, saying:
"It's okay, just be patient."
Then she hurried out of the room.
He looked absently at the door, then at his amputated arm, and sighed, saying:
"Huh…"
He moved his right shoulder several times, and tried to bend an arm that was no longer there.
He felt a dissonance in his consciousness, as his mind commanded an absent member to move, but he saw no trace of it.
Then he rested his severed arm on the bed and said to himself:
'If this is the price of life...it's cheap.'
Yes, he was confused, but he was not as alarmed as he thought.
An amputated arm is better than inevitable death.
----
Regarding the fact that the first thing that came to his mind when he came to die was Lintree?
Kyaaaah
They ask me why I love war romance 🥹🩵