Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies… a theft from those who hunger. - Dwight D. Eisenhower
And I was hungry.
And thirsty!
God, would give anything for some water. You know, like by the river. Clear water rolling over stones. From the Alps mountain ranges.
A sharp pain ran through my arm.
What is going on, where am I?
"Male, around thirty. Blast victim, he's the lucky one." she said quickly. "Shrapnel to the arm—right Brachial artery repaired. Forehead hematoma, fractured right clavicle, ribs three through five… oh and the right wrist."
She had a steady calm voice. I want her to read me by the river. While I drink some water.
"I've got to get back down there," the woman said. "This is going to be a war."
She's leaving?!
Wait, Blast. War?
Who was she talking about?
Me?!
The monitor alarms started beeping.