Shell shock

Chapter 6 shell shock

"I am telling you he is the perfect test subject." I hear a French accent say as my ears ring and my eyes adjust.
"Well, hopefully he doesn't have brain damage." Is the last I hear before my eyes close and I fade back out.
Before my eyes open I feel my back against a thinly padded mattress, I fear that I am back in France. In the hotel. I slowly begin to open my eyes before trying to move my hand. I can move them up and they can not move to the side without being restrained. I look down to realise that they are shackled to an old hospital bed as well as my feet.
Where am I? I wonder to myself. The room is padded in white. To make it look bigger then it is, and yet I still feel claustrophobic. There is only one other object in the room. Next to my bed there is an oak nightstand. No draws, just four legs and a topper. But on top of the nightstand was a jug of water that would not answer the bellowing calls of my throat that now had become thick and textured like sandpaper.
I hear footsteps approaching my room. They get closer and louder as my eyes become more and more locked on the door until a man swings the door of the hinges as it crashes against the padded wall. It's him. Daveed.
"Bonjour William, I am pleased you have woken up." He says to me,
My breathing becomes more unstable that it ever has, "you. I told you to leave me alone!" I cry.
"I am sorry William, but you are the perfect subject." His French accent seems to mock me.
"I told you I wanted no part in this!" I scream.
"William, this will cure you of your disease. When I chose to become a doctor I promised, I would never let a patient go untreated." He says to attempt to calm me down.
"I would rather go untreated than become a 'test subject!" I struggle in the hospital bed for a second before understanding the futility of my actions.
"Look I have to keep you dosed on morphine." He pulls out a syringe, "it will only hurt if you continue to move."
I squirm for a moment before allowing him to inject me. Before I am put back to sleep I manage to let out a whimper, I have no idea what I was trying to say but in that moment I felt more defeated then the Germans on the 11th.
The morphine made me feel sleepy as I hadn't taken any since France. As a result I fell asleep again. This time I was in a more tranquil place. I was in the trenches, but we had made a feast out of cans and enjoyed the company we had.
"Will, I want you to meet my family when we go home, you're like a brother I wish I had and I know they will welcome you as such." Anthony said, embracing me warmly. "I would like to toast to the victory I firmly believe we will have!" He cheers whilst toasting with a vegetable can.
"The war is damaging, but I am happy that I have company with me." James says as he joins in the toast.
Thomas was on the table but looked melancholy. Any talk about the war out of combat turned him into a statue.
"Come on Tom, I've heard the war will be over soon, they're saying the Germans cannot fund the war anymore and we're coming at them from all angles, I even heard we've taken on the otomins." Anthony always tried to make the war seem finishable, it truly is a shame he never saw armistice.
I see white lights and I hear wheels rolling so fast it sounds like they will fall off just because they are skidding across the floor. I realise that I'm being pushed and I'm now in a wheelchair. The fabric rubs against my skin making it agitated. My arms are still restrained but this time to the wooden arms. My kegs are strapped in too.
"William, you are awake." I hear a distant french voice say as he turns into a room. "That makes this part easier."
"Where- where am I going?" I ask.
"Don't worry William, you will be cured soon." He replied.
He put a projector on and a radio. The radio hummed jessie popes for the game, whilst the projector played a dance for the song. But amidst the dancing pictures of lord Kitchener would appear pointing at me saying 'join your country's army!" Other pictures would appear one was a line of men in uniform with an empty space saying, "reserved for a fit man."
Whilst this was happening I would watch the beauty of the choreography of the woman dancing, alongside who's for the game, the biggest that's played.
I was in awe. Each movement was with grace and unity. Collectively the dance was beautiful, so beautiful that art had brought beauty to the war. I saw men machine gunned down. Corpses. My old unit with scratched out faces, phantom faces. All perfectly blended with the joy of the woman. Their faces filled with joy, the soldiers filled with a void of hate.
"William, there is one more thing we must do, I need you to recite what happened during the bayonet charge, and after." Daveed calmly spoke to me.
"It was the four of us, in the trench before the charge." I said