One day after minding my own I saw a man getting dragged to a hut later I found out this man was Rod Wells and he was punished. Then one night all I heard was screaming I found my only friend laying on the ground crying in pain yelling that he can’t walk any longer I asked why and all he did was point and that’s when i saw it those Japs cut his tendon out of his and left him there to bleed out. That’s when I did something I would soon regret I ran up to the guard with the knife in his hand and turned it on him and plunged the knife into the scum just so I could see his face. Surprisingly I didn’t get shot or stabbed or hit or anything no one saw I was clean I was out of the woods on that one.
“Uh, yeah! Sure!” When I knew I was l alone I ran all over town looking for the source of the snow. I finally found it at an abandoned warehouse just outside of town. I waited a couple of seconds before saying something but before I could, someone spoke.
“Oh I don’t think so mr., not here,” I said responding back to Gabe. As I walked over to the drunk soldier I noticed there was a gun laying up against the bricks. Not caring about the gun, I continued to walk over to the man. “ Hey stop that nonsense before you start a blazing fire around here.”
He just laughs coldly, wiping his face. “Now, there’s the spirit I love so much. How’s the shoulder, by the way?” He presses two fingers into my healing shoulder and I moan. It may be sealed over, but it’s still healing.
"Everything is all right." Breathing slow lessened the pain, slightly, the burning reaching only muscle deep. The heat of River 's body was nothing compared to this. "Hope, heat does not bother you. You, safe here."
"Yeah," Victoria mumbled, turning the corner, "But now that the adrenaline has faded away it's starting to hurt." She looked like she was in pain. Her face was consorted in pain, her eyebrows pinched together as she bit her bottom lip as she held her injured arm.
“NO!!!!!!” I scream over the machine guns. I drop my gun and run over to him. “It’s gonna be alright,” I whisper as I rip some fabric
I must have dropped off, because when I opened my eyes, the sun was beginning its descent, causing an orange hue to cascade on the aged walls like vibrant painted patterns. I splash my face in the bathroom sink. Theres a claw footed tub inside. I imagine wicked nights of smoking and cognac ala Edward G Robinson while stewing in its recesses. I put on my peacoat and lock that door to my secret chamber. No sooner do I go out than I see a figure resting in a lobby chair. An older woman. An American. She tells me she in en route to Geneva to speak at a conference about water pollution. Her name is Miranda.