This story was for my Eighth Grade English Class assignment a few months ago.

As I woke up, I felt a searing pain shoot down from my knee down to my toes. Faint memories of running drifeted in and out of my mind, but I couldn’t exactly grasp what had happened. There were muffled voiced outside my room.

“Oh no!” I thought, “Do I have to go back to that awfull place?” A man with a pure white lab coat entered the room with a nurse. She looked at me and smiled.

“I see we’re finally awake. Dr. Morgandorpher is here to check up on you. Do you need anything?”

I struggled to say I needed pain reliever, lots and lots of pain reliever. The nurse just gave me a strange look. She left the room and closed the door with a quiet ‘snick’.

“Well there me boyo, how ye feelin?” said the Dr. It was abovious he was Irish or Scottish or something. Again I struggled to speak. It was no use. My voise just wasn’t working! The Dr. smiled at me.

“That’s all right, ye won’t get yer voice back until a couple days. I’ll just check yer cannon bone...oops! I mean yer shin. See, that’s what workin 12 hours in a military stable will do to ye.”

He picked up my left leg and doused it with a quarter bottle of cool brandy. The alcohol stung the would at first, but the pain became numbing. With the pain gone, I eased up. I couldn’t feel a thing. A cart with some gruesome looking tools was pulled over.

“What?” I thought, “Surgery?”

I must have made some type of noise that sounded like what I thought because the Dr. said to me,

“No, not surgery me boy! We’ve gotten that out of the way already. I just need to check for any shrapnal particles. If ye forget any little pieces that could lead to an infection, don’t ye know.” I watched him delicatly pull a teeny tiny piece of bullet shell from my gaping leg wound. Then he threaded a needle sewed it up. I was given a pill, and after that I don’t remember anything. It must have knocked me out.

Then next morning, well, it was morning when I woke up, I overheard three nurses gossiping in the hallway by my door.

“My word, Gracie! What did you say they were doing in France?”

“There was an epidemic of spinal meningitis. They say at least 50 men have died from it already.”

Well you know what I heard. My husbands friend is stationed up there, his name is William Seroka, he is being paid to keep his mouth shut about the doctors. They’re inexperienced and are breaking the needles when they take spinal fluid samples.”

The two other women gasped. Then I fell back asleep.

When I woke up again, I believe it was noontime, Dr. Morgandorpher was back. This time he wasn’t joking around with me.

“Mr. Heinschtadt, I need to ask you something.” I knew this was it. My decision determined whether I stayed or went back to fight. “I need to know if you are feeling well enought ot go back and fight.”

My hear was pounding. Do I suck it up and fight for my country? Or do I take my much earned rest. I would be getting a purple medal for my little slash. Finally I replied:

“Yes, Dr. Morgandorpher.”