“Orders came from Medical HQ: the nurse and doctor were being assigned to different units. They wondered if a skulker had reported them embracing each other for support and comfort. The lavation of their love from their hearts and souls began.” Word 125: Love in the Time of War
Assigned to another field hospital, she would seduce peace from the bedizen wraith of war herself if she could. Constant treadmill of gore and pain. Nothing changed; yet … her belly swelled until its’ convex nature could no longer be hidden. Dismissed in dishonour. “Filth,” spat the head nurse and colonel. But she had a keepsake of her doctor, her lover, a tiny baby girl: Pax.
As legs were sawn and the shell-shocked screamed, he deconstructed her few letters; searched for her through war zones. He grew despondent, alexithymic. Pax grasped her crayon like a scalpel. The causalities of war need not bear outward wounds.
@ my frilly Freudian slip