Fighting a War of Her Own

Chapter One

There I was. Sanding in the small tent, tending to a solider who was badly injured.
He had a large gash on his right arm, staining his uniform with thick, red blood. I pressed a wet rag on his forehead. "You'll be alright, we're going to help you," I barely whispered to him after about 5 minutes of complete silence. As the blood stains got worse and worse, I started to worry about him. He hadn't spoken at all in the few hours he'd been here. The doctor hadn't come to treat him, which meant he would most likely die like many others had done that morning. I spotted my mother sitting on the floor, most likely to wait for another patient to be carried into the tent which was already crammed with dead or dying people. I smiled at her encouragingly as to say 'It's okay! Our shift's over in an hour and thirty minutes!' She smiled brightly back at me.
My mother is a very beautiful woman. She had dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes. Even in he dirty blue dress and apron with her hair up in a bandana, clearly falling out with strands everywhere she looked stunning. I inherited none of the genes what so ever. I had my fathers dirty blonde hair and my grandmothers light brown eyes, the only genes I got from my mother was my porcelain-like skin tone, which was now covered in dirt, sweat, and blood.
Suddenly, the flap in the front of the tent flung open revealing a handsome young man screaming "THE BATTLE HAS BEEN WON!" excitedly. Personally, I was quite excited myself. For, we had been at the same post for several days, only getting rest when waiting for a new patient (which wasn't very long), or during our twenty break which most of us used to freshen up a bit.
The man I was tending to started to wake after dosing off after my mother had come in the room, most likely waking up due to all the cheering and screaming from all of the other nurses and the patients who were already strong enough.
"What happened?" he asked me weakly, sitting up slightly. "We've won the battle!" I answer with enthusiasm. When he finally spoke again, his voice was cracking tremendously. "That's good," he said weakly. He smiled at me and fell asleep as I walked away thinking about whether there be a time where that poor man lying in the cot would be able to fight again.
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I'm sorry if that was really bad, I'm sort of horrible at writing... Have a nice day! 😃