In silence they brought him to me, wanting me to ease his pain. There was not much I could do, of course. Two hours later he had bled out on my table and those who brought him left as silent as they came.
Hours later I found myself still staring at the blood that had drenched the table and puddled on the floor. It was dark outside. With effort I pushed the apathy away and begun cleaning.
Sometimes I wish that my mind would break completely too, as has happened with so many others. Instead I've found that I can fight it, I can come back. But when I do, so do the pain. The memories, picture on picture in my head. So draining of energy I hardly know how to keep functioning.
The only reason I don't stay in the emptiness inside my mind is the fact that there will be others. Not just like the one they brought today, but also those who could make it. And it is those I fight for. Too many have died already. I have no right to do the same when there is people out there that I know I can save. That I know I have to save.
Oh, how I hate them. All the innocent wounded and dying they bring me. It's their fault I can't give up. Their fault I have to keep going. But I am so, so tired.
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