Hope

'How many will I lose tomorrow?' I found myself thinking as I reached down and closed the eyes of my fourth today. Out of my 315 patients this week, 129 had died.
Our hospital was quaint, we had never before had to cope with so many dangerously ill patients.
War had started.
Everyone I knew- including my eleven year old brother- slept with a gun beside their bed. I say slept but I mean napped, in short, nightmarish bursts. I spend my life awake and I wonder how the ill, frightened, refugees make it to our humble town. I wonder if I will ever have a peaceful sleep again, a peaceful, revitalising sleep. Most of all, I wonder when the deaths will stop.
'When will it be my turn to fight Jayne?' Little Jimmy constantly questions, 'When will I be able to help?' Never. Because war will only bring death, 129 deaths, and still more to come.
.............................
As a lay down in bed I ask myself, 'What did we do wrong, do we really deserve this?' Yet every day more die under my hands, a new burden, added to my youthful shoulders, weighing down my leaden legs, and yet still more come.
My family passed under my hands, my grandma, my grandpa and eventually my parents.
I had adopted my father’s green eyes and my mother’s brown hair. My face, the gaunt pale colour of a corpse. Little Jimmy’s' skin was well tanned with blond hair and the same piercing green eyes, the eyes the kept me strong, kept me strong when I should have wilted like a flower. Like the bright flower that was my mother.
Sometimes I wake up crying, but I soon find Jimmy’s' hand in mine, calming, solid, reassuring flesh. Nobody understands except my lively little brother. I could not have gone on without him and he would not have gone on without me.
Sometimes I wonder if it was fate that brought me home on the day of the raid, home to Jimmy, home to the things and memories I loved, home to the place that was soon to be shattered.

It was the 12th September, 2016. The hospital was flooded with terror stricken refugees, some diseased or poisoned, some dying slowly and painfully from wounds, inflicted by the imminent war. But most were there to witness the lingering deaths of their families.
Jayne had collapsed earlier that day from exhaustion. Being the most talented doctor, the recently arrived refugees- and those that may depart- needed her more than ever. So after some energy jabs she awoke feeling nauseated and was sternly sent home by patronising nurse Gill.
So Jayne arrived home had a short, restless sleep, snacked on a tasteless apple then fled back to her room, accompanied by Jimmy who was curious about her day and she, his. Amongst their pleasant chatter you could hear a faint whirring. After that whirring there was a tumultuous explosion, silence reigned. Then all hell broke loose...