Wounded Love
folder
M through R › Patriot, The
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,870
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Patriot, The
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
6
Views:
2,870
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Patriot, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Strange New World
Chapter 3 – Strange New World
“Another day that I can’t find my head.
My feet don’t look like they’re my own.
I’ll try and find the floor below to stand.
And I hope I reach it once again”
- From the song “Feeling’ The Same Way” by Norah Jones
William opened his eyes and looked around. He had no clue as to where he was. The walls were all white; there was some sort of odor that smelled faintly like medicine. He turned his head and saw all kinds of odd-looking tubes hanging from weird, beeping boxes. Very strange place indeed, he thought. Having to relieve himself he tried to get up. He was pulled back to the bed by the same odd tubes he noticed earlier. The strange thing was they were all connected to him. One tube was in his nose; the others were stuck into his arms and hands. He was starting to get concerned. Maybe this was some sort of torture method that the damned colonials had thought up. Gods, was he a prisoner? He shuddered at the very idea of it. They would be horrible to him if they ever found out who he was. Just then the door to the room opened and a fresh-faced boy maybe in his early twenties came in carrying a tray of instruments and what looked like gauze.
“Mr. Tavington, my name is HM3 Nichols, I’m going to be cleaning and redressing your wounds today”. The boy said as he pulled down the sheet to Williams’s waist.
William looked down and grimaced. There was a gash about 4 inches long in his stomach, right above his navel. Odd pieces of material were holding the edges of the wound together.
“What are those?” William asked as the boy poured something from a brown bottle onto a piece of gauze.
“Those are stitches. You’ve got some in your side as well as your throat. They’ll be removed in about a week or so”. Nichols answered as he applied the gauze to Williams’s stomach wound.
William winced as the gauze touched the sensitive flesh. It was then that he noticed he was wearing some sort of trouser. The material was thin and felt stiff and was tied at the waist by a white rope of some kind.
He had been wondering about just how severe his throat wound was. It hurt the worst out of all the things that the bloody Martin bastard had done to him, yet he could still talk.
“Just how bad is my throat, if I may ask?” William asked.
Nichols tossed the used gauze into a small container next to him, and reached for a piece of parchment on a wood board that had been hanging on the end of his bed.
“Not that bad at all Mr. Tavington. Whatever pierced your throat missed your trachea by a couple of inches, so it’s more of a flesh wound really. Should heal pretty nicely I reckon”. Nichols said putting the board back where he found it.
Nichols had a different accent than he was used to among the British ranks, making him wonder if he was a colonial or loyalist.
“Are you a colonial?” William inquired as Nichols fastened new gauze to his stomach wound.
“Pardon?” Nichols asked, confused by the question.
“A rebel”. William asked with some apprehension in his voice.
Nichols smiled a little as he started to clean the bullet wound in his side.
“Well my mother says I can be quite rebellious at times, but I don’t think so, why do you ask?” Nichols said.
William thought about it for a moment before getting more scared. Nothing about this place made any sense. The last thing he remembered was fading out as the odd woman walked away to open the door. He vaguely remembered holding on to her hand as he was being transported somewhere, presumably this place, but where was this place?
“Where am I?” William asked.
Nichols smiled. “Naval Hospital Oak Harbor”.
“Whose navy?” William asked
“The United States”. Nichols answered, wondering if the man had amnesia.
Gods, he was in a colonial hospital. But the surroundings and the seemingly new technology made him wonder something else.
“If I may ask one more question. What is today’s date?” William asked, already fearing the answer.
“October 17, 2003” Nichols responded.
Oh bloody hell.
*~~~*
Thanx to Julie the battery queen.
“Another day that I can’t find my head.
My feet don’t look like they’re my own.
I’ll try and find the floor below to stand.
And I hope I reach it once again”
- From the song “Feeling’ The Same Way” by Norah Jones
William opened his eyes and looked around. He had no clue as to where he was. The walls were all white; there was some sort of odor that smelled faintly like medicine. He turned his head and saw all kinds of odd-looking tubes hanging from weird, beeping boxes. Very strange place indeed, he thought. Having to relieve himself he tried to get up. He was pulled back to the bed by the same odd tubes he noticed earlier. The strange thing was they were all connected to him. One tube was in his nose; the others were stuck into his arms and hands. He was starting to get concerned. Maybe this was some sort of torture method that the damned colonials had thought up. Gods, was he a prisoner? He shuddered at the very idea of it. They would be horrible to him if they ever found out who he was. Just then the door to the room opened and a fresh-faced boy maybe in his early twenties came in carrying a tray of instruments and what looked like gauze.
“Mr. Tavington, my name is HM3 Nichols, I’m going to be cleaning and redressing your wounds today”. The boy said as he pulled down the sheet to Williams’s waist.
William looked down and grimaced. There was a gash about 4 inches long in his stomach, right above his navel. Odd pieces of material were holding the edges of the wound together.
“What are those?” William asked as the boy poured something from a brown bottle onto a piece of gauze.
“Those are stitches. You’ve got some in your side as well as your throat. They’ll be removed in about a week or so”. Nichols answered as he applied the gauze to Williams’s stomach wound.
William winced as the gauze touched the sensitive flesh. It was then that he noticed he was wearing some sort of trouser. The material was thin and felt stiff and was tied at the waist by a white rope of some kind.
He had been wondering about just how severe his throat wound was. It hurt the worst out of all the things that the bloody Martin bastard had done to him, yet he could still talk.
“Just how bad is my throat, if I may ask?” William asked.
Nichols tossed the used gauze into a small container next to him, and reached for a piece of parchment on a wood board that had been hanging on the end of his bed.
“Not that bad at all Mr. Tavington. Whatever pierced your throat missed your trachea by a couple of inches, so it’s more of a flesh wound really. Should heal pretty nicely I reckon”. Nichols said putting the board back where he found it.
Nichols had a different accent than he was used to among the British ranks, making him wonder if he was a colonial or loyalist.
“Are you a colonial?” William inquired as Nichols fastened new gauze to his stomach wound.
“Pardon?” Nichols asked, confused by the question.
“A rebel”. William asked with some apprehension in his voice.
Nichols smiled a little as he started to clean the bullet wound in his side.
“Well my mother says I can be quite rebellious at times, but I don’t think so, why do you ask?” Nichols said.
William thought about it for a moment before getting more scared. Nothing about this place made any sense. The last thing he remembered was fading out as the odd woman walked away to open the door. He vaguely remembered holding on to her hand as he was being transported somewhere, presumably this place, but where was this place?
“Where am I?” William asked.
Nichols smiled. “Naval Hospital Oak Harbor”.
“Whose navy?” William asked
“The United States”. Nichols answered, wondering if the man had amnesia.
Gods, he was in a colonial hospital. But the surroundings and the seemingly new technology made him wonder something else.
“If I may ask one more question. What is today’s date?” William asked, already fearing the answer.
“October 17, 2003” Nichols responded.
Oh bloody hell.
*~~~*
Thanx to Julie the battery queen.