Saving lives

The stench of charred human flesh and open wounds filled up the makeshift ward to accommodate the deluge of the subway bomb blast victims.

It was my first day as a trauma nurse and the putrid smell of blood was making me gag.

Concentrate. After all you went through, you cannot botch this up, I told myself, firmly.

I was orphaned at the age of three and changed four foster homes before landing in prison. I was high on drugs while attempting to rob a store. After a night of crying in jail, when the first ray of sunshine seeped through the slats of the tiny window close to the ceiling, I pledged to myself that I’d turn my life around. I was done blaming others for my misfortune.

Seeing people groaning in pain around me brought back memories of past.

I tried to block the tears forming in the corner of my eyes when a lone toddler behind the curtains, caught my attention. He was trying to look at his mother’s mangled body bunched up on the bed. I immediately ran for the doctor.

I so badly wanted to save him from attempting a robbery, 14 years later.


200 Words

Written for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner

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All writings on this blog are copyrighted. All rights reserved to or Piyali Roy Bhowmick

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