When I first became a doctor, I was expecting a simple and quite life. I was to join Fathers Practice after leaving school which would secure me a handsomely paid position with a title fit for a gentleman.
And then the War started up and i went to do my duty and help save lives, at least, that's what i thought i was going to do, how naïve i was.
Everyday more men and fewer supplies are dragged into my tent, begging and screaming for help, and i do what i can for them, but each day more and more of the men die, and at first i was heartbroken when i couldn't save them, but now i feel almost nothing as i watch the life slip from their eyes, and I'm not sure which is worse
The officers make speeches about winning the war, but i no longer think winning is possible, the price this war demands is too high, victory is longer an option, not for us nor for the other side, instead all that can happen now is that the war can end, and both sides can return home and count up what they have lost.
I have taken to drinking some of the meagre supply of morphine we have left.
it stops my hands from shaking when i work on the men, and quiets the roar of emptiness i feel inside my chest.
I Pray that the war may end soon, and that i will live to see it