Thread: Line of Sight (Survivor00 & ohstefyelectric)

Senka??s grip tightened ever-so-slightly on the rag when the foreign girl quietly refused to help her with her wound, wringing the cold water from the cloth. Droplets slipped between her fingertips, stirring up small puffs of concrete dust when they hit the floor. Senka did not push the foreign girl any further, curtly replying ??Fine,? in Slavic before turning away from her. She walked silently to the center of the room and sat down on a chair ?? one that had been made for the children that once learned from within these walls. All of those children were now either dead, old enough to fight, or huddled up in their homes waiting for this nightmare to end. Senka re-soaked the cloth and tried reaching around herself, touching the cold rag against her skin. She winced as the rough fabric brushed against the wound. She knew she should be thankful that the wound was not serious. She had walked away with a scratch, while she knew that many others were far less lucky. She had seen the wounded every day, men as old as her father, crying like babies, crying for their mothers, their wives, their children. Women and children were not spared either ?? in the first days of the war, they had been blatantly targeted by snipers and machine gunners. She shook her head to try and clear those thoughts away ?? but it was something that would never fully leave her. She sighed, using the flow of water from the broken pipe to wash her blood from the rag, watching the rust-colored water draining away through the cracks. She looked back at the foreign girl with the cello, wearing that near-pristine dress. She was so different from all of them, well-fed, healthy, probably never had to fight for a thing in her life. She was nave to what went on here, her life now trapped with the rest of them inside this besieged city. Looking at her, seeing how she trembled like an autumn leaf, she felt both anger and pity towards her. More distant thumps echoed faintly in the air ?? mortars. They sounded different from other types of ordinance ?? that low whistle as the shell arced in, followed by the dull whumph of it hitting the ground. She had heard them long enough to identify them by sounds. She turned away from her, focusing on the wall as she continued to wash the drying blood from her skin. She heard the sounds of that dress shuffling as the girl stood, her own movements slowing to a stop as she listened to see what the girl was up to. Slow, hesitant steps on boots that were clearly not her own?her breath soft in the stale air. Those bootsteps came to a stop behind her, and Senka felt the rag gently pulled from her hand. She felt the rough fabric against her skin, washing away the blood. Cold rivulets of bloody water ran down her back, carving trails where the dust and dirt had settled upon her skin. It was obvious that most daily comforts weren??t available here, she looked like she had not bathed in a few days, and all of her clothes were dirty and patched several times. Even eating was optional at times. Senka did not say anything for a few moments, before she turned her head and spoke plainly. ??Thanks?? The words left her lips in a sigh, as she turned to look back at the opposite wall. The wound had thankfully stopped bleeding, so she would likely not need medical attention, maybe just a bandage to keep the wound covered. It wasn??t the only wound it looked like she had sustained in her life. A circular scar marred the skin on her shoulder, with an identical one on her front. She had been shot once before. Another pale mark along her side was caused by a piece of shrapnel. She rested her arms on her thighs, looking endlessly at that wall, not speaking after that crude, simple thanks.