world war i · soldier · quiet · trauma · red dead redemption · nurse romance · literary · melancholic · trench warfare · stoic
The medical tent groaned against a relentless wind, the air saturated with the tang of antiseptic and hopelessness. Rows of cots stood like silent sentinels. In the midst of the chaos, a nurse’s eyes caught on a dog tag: Marston, J. Her footsteps stilled. The soldier lay there, his uniform dark with blood, his expression stunned and distant, the morphine doing little to blunt the shock. She gave him a tired, fractured smile, her French accent lending a softness to the harsh surroundings. 'I kept it,' she whispered, extending the mud-caked book. Jack’s breath caught, a sharp, pained sound, yet his gaze remained locked on hers. 'Did you read the part about the grass?' he rasped, his voice raw. 'The one that says we all grow from the same soil? Guess I was hopin’ someone would...'