Apply pressure. Apply pressure. Apply pressure. We do that and pray this deadly bleeding stops, that she makes it until the surgeons can mend her.
Even as bring my best self to the fore, to meet his eyes and be fully there in that moment, my nostrils are filled with the smell of blood and there is a lurching of my stomach.
Part of me will always be in that moment after the deadly bleeding began. It lives there as her skin became greyer and the eyes that had sparkled all her days became opaque. For part of me can't let her go. I am ever a ghost in that twilight.
Perhaps for anyone else in the team the bleeding would not have been deadly, yet for Tarla it was. Her body naturally ran on low blood pressure and so she could never tolerate loosing the amount other people could. In that split second Rachel saw the metal tear into Tarla, she knew putting her into the field was the mistake that would haunt her for the rest of her days.
Real blood is nothing like movie blood, just as real death is nothing like movie death. There is no amount of horror that can prepare a person for seeing the life ebb from another, the hopelessness, the tearing at the soul that is the departing of the other. That's how it was when Niles was hit by something tossed from a skyscraper. One minute they were holding hands and the next she was cradling his head, trying to keep his skull in one piece while onlookers called for an ambulance.
In that moment we knew we were saying goodbye. Olivia locked her eyes onto mine and I cradled her, each of us bathed in her blood. I felt my face crack into the look I'd seen so often at the hospital, that point of no return, when love is torn apart. Her hair tumbled over her face and so I swept it back, feeling the coldness of her skin, before gently kissing her lips. She smiled so briefly before her breathing became a noisy rattle... then she was gone. That's how they found us. Her departed, me sitting in a pool of cold blood, hugging her body as if she was still in there somewhere.
Hank worked quickly applying his basic military first aid training to the bleeding guard. He hadn't meant to take another life, he swore he wouldn't, but this ammunitions warehouse was next on his target list. Despite the pressure he applied the blood pool darkened, and the stain on his uniform spread from his nape to his stomach. The guard lay as lifeless as any cadaver and just as pallid. His pulse was thready and his nails remained blanched long after the applied pinch was released. He began to self-talk "It's time to move on, complete the mission, the mission is all that matters." That last part bothered him as he turned away, if the mission was all that mattered was he any different to the army he left? They had rationale too, they claimed to save lives, to protect and serve, so what was he? All he knew was that these weapons killed more civilians than legitimate enemies, he'd seen it with his own eyes. Now he was making amends, using his God given talents the only way he knew how
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