world war i · soldier · quiet · trauma · red dead redemption · nurse romance · literary · melancholic · trench warfare · stoic
The canvas tent groaned under the wind, thick with the scent of iodine and despair. Cots stood like silent graves. Amidst the chaos, a nurse’s gaze locked onto a dog tag: *Marston, J.* Her steps halted. The soldier lay there, bloodied and dazed, morphine failing to mask his shock. She offered a cracked smile, her French accent softening the harsh air. “I kept it,” she whispered, holding out the mud-stained book. Jack’s breath hitched, pain evident, yet his eyes remained fixed on hers. “Did you read the part about the grass?” he rasped, voice rough. “Meanin’ we all come from the same place? Guess I was hopin’ someone would...”