Art of the pains

Year:1864

*Flensberg, Germany*

The hospital was filled with people, nurses running from one compartment another, from one hospital bed to another with medicines and first aid in their hands;doctors fumbling with cotton pads and IV drips or whatever that could save the bunch of injured soldiers. The faint smell of blood and iron lingered in the air. Blood patches were everywhere on the floor. Whimpers, soft and loud, grons from undesirable and unbearable pain filled the atmosphere. The beds arranged in rows were soaked in blood and filled with injured soldiers. The tall glass windows glimed in warm sunlight as sunlight flickered inside the hospital through them. Muffeled cries and prayers of family members of soldiers were the other noise which filled the surrounding after the grons and whimpers. The clinking of metallic scissors, needle, scalpel were a hum in background.

"Please move aside, please move aside" the man in the front of the streacher shouted his lungs out as two mens behind him carried the streacher on which laid a soldier, dressed in military uniform, blood was dripping out from his stomach and left arm. He seemed to be far more than just injured. His breathes were heavy and uneven, he could barely move ann inch of his body. His face was not visible as blood was painted on it. It looked as if every moment he was being dragged closure to his own death. Each second in his life rightnow felt valuable.

As the man in the front parted the crowd the two men carrying the streacher on which laid the injured soldier moved fast. Soon tthey reached near a board door above which it read '𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚'. " 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘵, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺" the man who earlier had parted the crowd thought as he exhaled deeply through his nose;The man looked in his late 20s, he wore the same military dress on which the label read 'Bernhard'. He was utterly handsome and muscular. His short mullet cut hair clinged to his sweaty forehead. His uniform had patches of blood on them. His forehead had a cut at his corner which was bleeding slowly while his arms had big cut which was wrapped by a white cloth to stop bleeding but the white cloth seemed to be soaked in the blood. He stared at the soldier who was laid on streacher, his eyes we're horrified and empty, tears prickled at corners of his eyes as he looked up and blinked to not let them fall,"𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸 ,𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦" he said to himself just barely murmur.His groans now seemed louder since they were away from emergency ward and the crowd.

They stood in a broad corridor litted with dim lights which were casted by the electric bulb which hung losely from the ceiling. There were no windows only small translucent sphere shaped glasses which allowed sunrays to flicker dimly.

They heard footsteps approaching, the man in the military uniform and the worker who were holding streacher dressed in navy blue looked towards the source of sound; a team of doctors were rushing towards them dressed in white, their footsteps were hurried.

"Sorry for being late" said the man after he reached there , he looked early in his 40s. As he opened the door of operation theatre he signalled his team to follow him inside as he himself entered the room.

The two men carrying the streacher followed after the team of doctors, and the man waited outside , he eyes now stinged with the unshead tears.

Soon after a minute the two mens carrying the streacher walked out of the room except that now the streacher was empty with blood stains decorating it, they walked down the corridor away from the man who stood in the middle of corridor with tears stinging his eyes, clothes bathed in blood and guilt overtaking him.

Soon the footsteps died away. As the man in the uniform stood silently in the corridor staring at the door of operation theatre which was now closed its square shaped translucent hollows were now reflecting a white light indication of what would be happening behind the doors, shadows moved behind those doors, those translucent hollows and the man in the uniform stared at them with fear, guilt and something more.

The man in the Uniform kept staring at those doors which had separated him from his dear human. He had been staring at for a minute or two , as he lowers himself to the nearby chair. His hands clasped together in a silent prayer, his elbows placed on his knees as he rested his forehead against his clasped hands and now his tears slipped freely now, "Please, be okay" he murmured to one but to himself his voice cracked no matter how much he tried not to., a silent sob escaped his lips as he bit onto his lower lip to stop them so that no one can hear them, him or his cries. Because '𝙃𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙢𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙘𝙧𝙮'; that's what he was told when he for first time ever.

Behind the door of operation theatre the soldier laid on the operation bed, nurses arranged the cotton pads,scapel and other tools needed for operation. Young operating nurses wore mask and thin green color clothes above their medical ones and wore greeo caps to cover their hairs.

"Should we change his clothes" one of the young man,who was a operating nurse asked the elder doctor.

"We don't have enough time for it, Edelhard" replied the elder doctor while looking at the young man who earlier asked him.

"Yeah, that's right" Edelhard replied as he continued to wear his cap which was surely big enough for his head.

"Amara" the elder doctor called out the name as he turned towards a young woman who was also a operation nurse.

"Yes, sir" Amara replied as she Walker towards the elder doctor.

"We don't have enough time, so remove his shirt ; he seem to have got shoot on his stomach and left arm" the elder doctor said to Amara while pointing at the soldier as again he began to wear his gloves which he had to wear to start the operation.

"Yes, sir " Amara replied nodding her head and tighten her gloves around her hand as she started to walk towards the operation bed on which laid the injured soldier, now unconscious due to syringe of unconsciounes he had been given recently.