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xifengMoving right along now, until I get caught up. Anna, original. Le mot du jour was "wound". Warfare-related violence, some gore, description of mutilation. I actually did like 15 seconds' of Wikipedia research on this one. :D
This one is speshully for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dethorats, who once expressed the desire to know what happened to Anna's hand.
All her life, Anna will remember this:
The slight pressure of her foot--she was a slim girl even without the short rations they were all on--the rumbling, and her own brief, startled gaze to her comrades. They must have known, because they wouldn't come to her aid, but watched wide-eyed instead.
The blast, ferocious and hellish, the blinding flash, and her own feeble attempt to step back, although the mine was going to go off as inexorably as the wheel of Fate itself turns.
The brief arc and its painful terminus, which seemed to last forever although she now knows it wasn't more than a minute, if that.
She doesn't know, and no one has ever been able to find out for her, if someone lobbed a grenade at her or if the Whites only fired on her or if it was the mine that did it, but she watched, as if in a dream, two fingers on her right hand coming off. It didn't hurt at all while it was happening--it seemed to belong to someone else’s hand, and her dismay was distant and impersonal.
The descent that knocked the wind out of her when she fell, knocked her glasses off her face, tore open a wound in her right side; her own desperate, sucking breaths as she tried to force air back into her lungs.
Blood in her eyes and mouth; blood pooling underneath her. Temporarily, she was sightless, and groped for her rifle with fingers that were no longer there. It hurt to stand up, and she tried to force herself, but the pain was too awful and she sank back on her knees, sobbing, because it hurt a little less that way; she learned later that she'd broken her leg when the blast threw her back.
Even after the stumps healed, even after she got her sight back, even once her side was sewn up and her leg set and she was sent back to Moscow, Anna would wake up in the night, feeling the loss fresh and new.
This one is speshully for
dethorats, who once expressed the desire to know what happened to Anna's hand.All her life, Anna will remember this:
The slight pressure of her foot--she was a slim girl even without the short rations they were all on--the rumbling, and her own brief, startled gaze to her comrades. They must have known, because they wouldn't come to her aid, but watched wide-eyed instead.
The blast, ferocious and hellish, the blinding flash, and her own feeble attempt to step back, although the mine was going to go off as inexorably as the wheel of Fate itself turns.
The brief arc and its painful terminus, which seemed to last forever although she now knows it wasn't more than a minute, if that.
She doesn't know, and no one has ever been able to find out for her, if someone lobbed a grenade at her or if the Whites only fired on her or if it was the mine that did it, but she watched, as if in a dream, two fingers on her right hand coming off. It didn't hurt at all while it was happening--it seemed to belong to someone else’s hand, and her dismay was distant and impersonal.
The descent that knocked the wind out of her when she fell, knocked her glasses off her face, tore open a wound in her right side; her own desperate, sucking breaths as she tried to force air back into her lungs.
Blood in her eyes and mouth; blood pooling underneath her. Temporarily, she was sightless, and groped for her rifle with fingers that were no longer there. It hurt to stand up, and she tried to force herself, but the pain was too awful and she sank back on her knees, sobbing, because it hurt a little less that way; she learned later that she'd broken her leg when the blast threw her back.
Even after the stumps healed, even after she got her sight back, even once her side was sewn up and her leg set and she was sent back to Moscow, Anna would wake up in the night, feeling the loss fresh and new.
