When the war is over ficlet
Title: Windows to the Soul
Author: Aussie
Rated: T
Characters: Edith, Patrick
(300) words
“Lady Edith, would you talk to the man in bed twelve?” Dr Clarkson had asked.
She’d hesitated, knowing who was in bed twelve.
“He’s refusing to deal with his post-treatment options,” Dr Clarkson had went on. “I was wondering...”
Usually she had no qualms of helping out with the more difficult patients. She’d learnt their anger stemmed from their fear. Distraction, she found, worked wonders. It was just a matter of finding out what subject the patient was interested in enough to sufficiently distract him.
However, on this occasion, it was more likely than not that she would prove to be the subject this patient was interested in.
He’d arrived at the house a few days ago, his injuries extensive and obvious. It had been impossible to ignore the way his eyes followed her every time she’d entered the ward since.
“If you feel overwhelmed by his appearance, just focus on his eyes. It sometimes helps,” Dr Clarkson had advised.
It wasn’t helping.
Her heart hammered at the perfection of his clear blue eyes up close.
“We need to talk about what your plans,” she told him now, keeping her voice as calm as possible.
“What are your plans?”
She blinked. He wasn’t English. She wasn’t expecting that.
“My plans?” she stammered. “My plans aren’t important. It’s you--”
“They’re important to me. You seem so different. In amongst all this sadness you’re finding purpose in your life beyond the frivolous demands of your family.”
She couldn’t do this. There was something just too unsettling about this man.
She stood and turned her back on him.
“Please, Edith,” he called softly. “When the war is over, look for love, not just a husband.”
She paused for a moment, but then continued towards the door. She needed air. He knew too much.
Author: Aussie
Rated: T
Characters: Edith, Patrick
(300) words
“Lady Edith, would you talk to the man in bed twelve?” Dr Clarkson had asked.
She’d hesitated, knowing who was in bed twelve.
“He’s refusing to deal with his post-treatment options,” Dr Clarkson had went on. “I was wondering...”
Usually she had no qualms of helping out with the more difficult patients. She’d learnt their anger stemmed from their fear. Distraction, she found, worked wonders. It was just a matter of finding out what subject the patient was interested in enough to sufficiently distract him.
However, on this occasion, it was more likely than not that she would prove to be the subject this patient was interested in.
He’d arrived at the house a few days ago, his injuries extensive and obvious. It had been impossible to ignore the way his eyes followed her every time she’d entered the ward since.
“If you feel overwhelmed by his appearance, just focus on his eyes. It sometimes helps,” Dr Clarkson had advised.
It wasn’t helping.
Her heart hammered at the perfection of his clear blue eyes up close.
“We need to talk about what your plans,” she told him now, keeping her voice as calm as possible.
“What are your plans?”
She blinked. He wasn’t English. She wasn’t expecting that.
“My plans?” she stammered. “My plans aren’t important. It’s you--”
“They’re important to me. You seem so different. In amongst all this sadness you’re finding purpose in your life beyond the frivolous demands of your family.”
She couldn’t do this. There was something just too unsettling about this man.
She stood and turned her back on him.
“Please, Edith,” he called softly. “When the war is over, look for love, not just a husband.”
She paused for a moment, but then continued towards the door. She needed air. He knew too much.