" I will be waiting for you on the other side of the frozen pines. " E. Roe x Oc

𝐀𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐭

───※ ·❆· ※───

2076 words

A/N: Woohoo chapter revamp - maybe I'll pick this book up again?

Edit: Grammar, details, spelling and chapter song

Look at her, narrow your eyes just a bit.

"It's um... it seems to be Trench Foot," the brunette's eyes met mine.
I drew my fingers along the table, striding to the left side of a young soldier. Say something smart. "Do you concur?"

The girl across from me furrows her brow, "Concur? With -? " She paused. "Yes

I nodded then met eyes with the man, "Take off your boots every now and then, rub them. Stay on them. Even when sitting; tap your feet.

"Yes ma'am."

I separated myself rom the group of medical workers and sat secluded at a nearby table. I stare at my cup of coffee - What I would like others to think is coffee - ... it was in fact just hot chocolate. Budget hot chocolate, made up of hot water and a melted Hershey's bar. Good enough considering the circumstances.

"Clark, take a look at this."

"Mh?"

"We couldn't extract the bullet; it's lodged in there."

My eyes danced around the room, taking notice of Renee, Charlotte, and Jane. I bit my lip, hoping it would fish my mind back from the depths of the raging ocean I called my mind. My hands crept towards the man's abdomen, casting shadows that looked like barren tree branches. Furrow your brow, make it look like you're thinking hard. Take the tweezers from Charlotte. Deep breath.

I had to pull my mind into some new state of self awareness just to realize I was humming something. Clearly it worried my peers, as Jane looked from me to her boots. After successfully extracting the bullet, I was met with an eerie silence. "Was, ahum," I cleared my throat, "Weird spot under his artery. Get him patched up." My eyes darted to jane in a similar fashion to what she had just done to her boots. On some level I felt guilt towards Jane, she seemed scared - upset or even worried in my presence.

Was it just in my presence?

As I walked, cotton sleeves scraped along my forearms and neck. Cotton, usually comfortable and soft, had stiffened and flaked with blood around my wrists. My HBT coveralls were hardly enough to keep me warm in the brutal winter of Bastogne. Nothing like the winters I had experienced in my hometown. Tennessee was, at its coldest, rarely dipping into the negatives. The coldest I ever recalled was -4 degrees, it was terrible, but nothing compared to Bastogne this winter. Had I fathomed how cold France got, I wouldn't have dared volunteered for the nurse corps. I hated being cold - but I loved the scent it put on the air, the cool lighting that drenched everything under the cloud cover. I glance around at the hall of people, warm candle-light and cool-toned sunlight mix and swirl like a watercolor painting, shattered through broken glass panes. My leg is bouncing relentlessly. Charlotte Mercer sat across from me in that reassuring silence I thanked God for. I never minded Charlotte's company, she was intuitive and quick-thinking - and never prying.

"What happened to that Frenchman from the other day?" She extracts a cigarette from her
pocket and holds one out to me. When I looked at her I quickly attached a voice to her face, she was British. I often forgot that America wasn't the only nation that was fighting this war.

"Blood Loss." I shake my head politely to the smoke. This was Charlotte's second world war - I was told that she served in world war one where she had found a tommie for herself. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like to serve in the first war. I wasn't alive at the time, the first war came to an end early November of 1918, I was born three years later. Charlotte was twenty-one at the time and had apparently survived a suicide mission which saved over 1,600 lives. She was like a mother away from home. I produced a handkerchief from my pocket, allowing the soft cotton to touch the tip of my nose quickly. I inhaled the scent and was once again reminded of the green pastures of home.