The Cold War-Personal Narrative

As I looked down from the helicopter I could see a sea of chaos. I jump out and land on my pedals. I slightly rolled my tarsal but I wasn't gonna let that stop me. As I got closer to the scene my nasal could not take the smell of Pyrodex propellant, and blood. I search the desert wasteland with my orbitals to see if anyone was in need of immediate attention. Then I spotted a wounded soldier, with the weight of medical supplies wrapped around my coxal. I ran towards him in short breaths. But when I get a better view of the extremity of his injuries my muscles tense up and my breathing stops altogether.This was my first day on the job.

The name on his dust-filled jacket was Doss. I look and see many dead bodies, that just created this weird feeling in my umbilical. One with a mangled cubital with a clip laying in his palmar, another with a stab to the cervical that has blood flowing from his cervical into the cracks of the desert floor like the Mississippi River, and the last had his sternal gashed open with extra skin drooping off the sides; He struggled to
He had one stab wound to the mammary, and two bullets to the femoral. I put on my gloves and touching the warm blood I could almost feel the rush of energy going through his very veins that give him the courage to take a gun in hand and take a life with each aim of that gun. I took a needle and thread, and as it dangled in my oral I used my free manus to quickly rip open his jacket and shirt to get a clear look at what I would be dealing with. This was the first I have ever stitched a conscious being with no anesthetics. As I drove the needle into his flesh, Doss breathing made his flesh rise and fall with each passing of the thread. This was an unusual sensation, like eating a food that was still moving and alive. It made the process linger much longer than it should