Tu Es Ma Lumière

86 - Bombing *WW2*

The stretcher in which the young woman lays upon moves faster than any car, four frantic nurses trying to get her into a part of the hospital which still holds at least three walls. The bombs shriek and explode with deafening volume, walls crumbling down, becoming nothing but rubble and dust when they once stood tall, observing so much history with generations coming and passing. The wheels of the stretcher squeak underneath her, men and women and children crying out in fear and pain as the bombs explode next to them and the planes fly mere feet above them.

Francis runs as fast as he can, his hand clamped so tight that he couldn't escape from it even if he wanted to. His young wife screams her pain, her body arching off the cold steel stretcher as nurses continue to wheel her around. Her legs are parted wife, knees pulled up, large, swollen stomach never more prominent. The bombs explode loudly around them, breaking glass and crushed metal echoing in their ears.

"Breathe! Breathe!" a midwife cries out, pushing the foot of Mary's stretcher. Mary screams as her contractions continue to worsen and worsen, coming in waves so horrid she thought she would loose her life because the pain was so horrid.

"We must get her out!" the nurse yells out. "We must get her out now!" she yells, narrowly getting out of another corridor before the ceiling collapses in on itself, sending rubble and rock pelting to the floor.

"Remember to breathe, Mary. Everything will be fine." the midwife yells as they stop pushing the stretcher. 

"Pick her up, follow us." the midwife tells Francis, who is on medical leave from his duty, thanks to a gunshot wound to his chest not that long ago. "Come on, come on." he is rushed, quickly picking his wailing wife up from the gurney and rushes outside.

"Pick that trolley up! We need it now!" she yells as two nurses quickly grab an upturned trolley and straighten it out. Mary is layen upon it. Now they could hear the engines of the planes, the screaming of dropping bombs, the hums of other machinery that attempted to cause their demises.

"Get me some light! Get me some light right now!" the midwife yells as Mary screams out in pain again, she can smell the smoke of the burning buildings, she can hear the cries of dying men and women. She can hear the thunderous sounds of the planes above them, the echoes of falling shrapnel. She is scared, terrified for her baby and for her own life that may not be cut short by the child leaving her body, but may be cut short because of the falling bombs raining down from the sky.

Mary screams out as another contraction runs through her body, looking over at the side as another bomb falls and desecrates a wall with fire. It's windows explode, fire singing the hairs in her nose, the tears and sweat upon her face being highlighted. It falls into nothingness, now nothing but rock and rubble.

"You're doing well, Mary, really, really well!" she is told by one of the midwives, who finally brings her attention from the wreckage. She clamps onto her husbands' hand, clawing into his arm as he props her up into a sitting position, one arm behind her shoulders and arms, the other holding her hand tightly.

"Very, very close. I can see the head! Baby's got dark hair!" she's told. Mary gasps out in surprise, her chest heaving with pain and tears. She screams out again and again, pushing as hard as she's got. Her back arches and her toes curl in pain. She screams and she screams and she screams. 

Francis kisses her head over and over, supporting her neck as she continues to push their baby from her body and into the world.

"One more! One more!" the midwife yells out over the screams of her patient and the screams of the bombs. A gust of wind from the planes above them pushes Mary's hair against her shoulders and arms. Francis kisses her sweaty hair as she pushes again, before collapsing almost lifelessly into his arms.

They wait with baited breath as a small wail cuts through the thunderous noise.

"It's a boy." the midwife reveals. Mary opens her eyes and glances over the length of her own body, seeing a small, bloody bundle being wrapped into a small blanket. She sobs her relief and joy, taking the bloody bundle into her own arms. Francis strokes her hair back and kisses her cheek, looking down at their boy as he settles into his mothers' arms. Mary covers his little ears as best she can, hoping for the sake of this little might that he would live in a better world than the one he was born into.