Artificial Horizon - A César Fernando Basa x Reader story

XLVI - Course

Despite our current location—the outer barracks closest to the perimeter walls that are made as first aid quarters and makeshift small hospital for those unable to be brought to the overflowing facilities outside the airfield—I know that I must remain alert of any possibilities. Just because the bombs aren't shyly touching any of our facilities by now doesn't mean that one will not stray here and kill all of us at once.

I sigh heavily and finally remove the mask, fully aware right now that even if I gag at the sight and smell, there is nothing for me to vomit at all with an empty stomach. To add, I think I can finally handle the strain of it; and with that in mind, I dare return back to where I'll definitely be needed.

* * *

Instead of giving my comforts and help to those who are screaming for their pains to be relieved, finding too many others addressing to them first than to those who remain quiet at the other end of the barracks, I then head on to the latter. It is not because I take comfort with the stillness, but it is strange that many disregard their ills just because their cases are beyond saving. I think, they are the most ones in need; because, isn't it lonely to perish from this world alone?

To be fair, I'll not be here in the first place if it isn't for one of them—a young mechanic, lying on a pool of his own blood on the bed despite being tended earlier by a doctor to remove the shrapnel that had been found on his stomach and still show no signs of improvement, called for my attention and weakly asked for a favor. His request had been simple: for me to send a message to his parents, in any case that he didn't make it. Hence, I asked him to wait as I gathered some papers and pencil, and by the time I made it back, I then asked him what he wanted me to write down.

"Na mahal ko sila," he choked with his words, sobbing. "Na mahal na mahal ko sila."

I wrote the words, rephrasing it to clearly convey his meaning. Afterwards, I added his name when he said that he had nothing else to say. I tear the small part of the paper with his message, folded it and handed it to his shaky ones, saying, "Magiging maayos lang ang lahat, at ikaw ang magbibigay nito sa kanila. They'll much want to receive this from you than from me."

He scoffed, smiling softly as he closed his eyes, and held on to the small piece of paper. "Thank you."

And even before I could pull my hands from that of his, he breathed his last.

He isn't the first one whom I've watched died right in front of my eyes. Though I didn't encounter anyone dying in my presence during my time as a nurse before this war, the past few days of watching people who've only been a constant throughout my life for being always there in the background, even if I don't know them personally... their deaths hardened me enough. Almost to the point that I take comfort of them than at the prospect of the living, whom I know needs me as much as everyone else for me to ease their pain and be for them in comfort.

After ensuring that there is nothing left out of the mechanic, checking the absence of a pulse and all, I take the paper from him and keep it in my pockets. I make a mental promise that I'll deliver it to its recipient as I move away from his bedside, call for a few others to take his body away where the other corpses are gathered to give vacancy in this ward of the dying.

Now, as the bombs continue to fall just meters away from where we are, and the room starts to slowly gather some noise of soft sobs from soldiers definitely wishing to be able to do something than be lying helplessly here, I continue on with the rounds of asking each one of them about what I can do to help them. I find some requests rather strange due to its simplicity—a message to be delivered, a glass of water to drink, an extra blanket because he feels quite too cold despite the room being so warm, for the dirt he has on his face to be brushed away, for a hand to hold on for a moment, and too many others that one will even consider to be too mundane of a request. It only proves one thing: that at the end of the line, men didn't have any bold or grand requests.