#wrcngman

                    “  here..   let  me  help  you.   it’s  not  so  bad. ”       holding  his  head  still,  fingers  work  with  precision  to  bandage  up  a  gash  on  the  soldiers  head.      her  red  hair  was  a  mess  due  to  never-ending  wounds  to  attend  to.        it  was  getting  worse.         stop  staring,  be  cheerful.       “  hey     are  you  okay ?  ”    green  eyes  shoot  back  to  the  chart  with  his  name  in  bold  letters.             “          . . .   mr.  siebert? ”       / /  @wrcngman  sc.

     they humor themselves, in this hour of bloodshed. “hey, young sir -- who do you fight for?” 

“you’re a yank, huh?” alex almost sneers the word out, as if there’s something wrong with it. he already knows the answer to the question based on the soldier’s uniform alone. “from the colonies?”

“d’you wanna play?” he asks.

        ❝ hey, buddy. ❞ there’s a chart propped at the bottom of his bed, now; it says that he might be confused, that he’s in hospital, and that they’re waiting to ship him back to the states. johnny guesses he must have driven other guys mad, or something, ‘cause he definitely doesn’t remember...anything. there’s a whole space in his head where memories have been scooped out, and god knows where they are now. he figures he probably shouldn’t ask about that.  ❝ uh, you got any baseball scores in that paper? ❞

        ❝ oh, now you turn up? ❞ propped against a tree, exhaustion is obvious in joe’s body language as much as anything else --- and doesn’t he deserve to be pissed? ( not that he ever needs a reason for that. )  ❝ where were you armoured boys when we were getting pounded to hell, huh? ❞

y’all are too kind to me