Hope

‘How many will I lose tomorrow?’ I found myself thinking as I reached down to close the eyes of my fourth. Out of my 315 patients today, 129 had died. Our hospital was quaint, after a few hours of work I wish I could have a night of luxurious, revitalising sleep. But it does not come. I spend my life awake, aiding the harried, distraught and bedraggled, wondering when our torture would end.
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Jayne was not easily dissuaded from the harsh tasks, placed on her youthful shoulders. She marched swiftly down the pure white, sterilised corridors, the sound of her shoes reverberating eerily. Jayne carried out her work unswervingly, even during the most strenuous tasks. Until that one day. Fate brought her home on the day of the raid, home to Jimmy, home to the things and memories she loved, home to the place that was soon to be shattered.

It was the 12 September 2016. The hospital was flooded by a myriad of refugees. Terror stricken, wounded refugees. Many within the host were carrying deadly diseases, plagued, festering wounds burdened others. The reflection of war shone stark inside their dimming eyes. War was imminent, death was lingering.

Jimmy darted between the refugees, his piercing green eyes and shining blond hair was a spark of light against the darkening night. Rushing over to Jayne, who was trying her hardest to clear the packed corridors, he silently slipped his hand into hers. Many glanced at the odd, silent, resolute pair- their eyes distinguished them as siblings. ‘Wise, haunted eyes for such young people’, an older man professed. Jayne had shining, long brown hair, with large, illuminating, green eyes- rivalling her younger brothers. Jayne carried the pale, gaunt exterior of a corpse whilst little Jimmy’s skin shone a tanned gold.
The warmth and strength the simple handhold emanated, kindled the fires of others hearts, seeping through worry, penetrating travel-sick minds. Using gentle tones and smooth persuasiveness Jayne and Jimmy cleared the heaving halls, guiding the lost. Jayne sighed, revealing a weary smile, tousled her brothers gleaming hair and continued on her way to ward three.

This was but merely a scratch on Jayne’s long day. ‘How much longer?!’ she groaned to the stern, patronising Nurse Gill who, although a lot older, was a lot less experienced than studious Jayne. ‘Not much dear,’ Gill sighed, patting Jayne’s shoulder, trotting over to Mr. Thompson’s bed. Jayne breathed in deeply, spluttering in the foul air. She sighed drew her dignity about her and marched onwards.

Everywhere she looked she saw suffering, ’No different from usual’, she muttered, knowing she was kidding herself. The filth and stench of decay permeated Jayne’s cool and collected consciousness. She shrank, shivering at the touch. ‘How do I face this every day?’ she thought, her mind teetering, on the verge of tears. ‘You do it for Jimmy,’ her torn mind called, shredding her defences, ‘to save the soul of another’- a soul that was already lost, drifting in this perilous realm.