Deluge of Desolation | l. ackerman

Penance

(chapter twenty-two)

"Felix?"

The boy doesn't respond to my whisper, naturally. His breathing was strained, inconsistent and short. His eyebrows were furrowed. Even in sleep, my dearest friend is unable to get the rest he so deserves. Sweat glistened on his forehead while his fingers twitched often in a way that gave me reason to believe he was dreaming of flying on ODM gear.

Bringing my hand to Felix's forehead, I slightly moved his curly hair away from where it was sticking on his head with light fingers, not wanting to disturb his rest. Moving my eyes further down his body, I saw his chest heaving in fatigue while his hands gripped the white blanket that covered his body. Filtering my eyes down his torso, a large bandage covered the entire right side of his body from just under his rib to right above his pelvis. The doctors informed me that no vital organs were damaged, thankfully. As my gaze lowered down to his thighs, I forced myself to look away in affliction.

Felix's left leg's indent was prominent under the thin blanket, however, his lack of a right leg crushed my heart in thousands of different fragments. Hovering my trembling hand over the stub of his leg, I let the pool of tears in my eyes fall down onto the fabric of the cot. A day nurse stood in the corner of the room, modestly keeping her hands behind her back with a lowered head. Kemmerich leaned on the wall next to the door with his hands stuffed in his signature coat. His head was lowered as well. Milo was just outside of the room.

I was told it was Milo who found Felix injured on the field crying to himself as he muttered 'goodbyes' to his family with his short breaths. Ever since Milo entrusted Felix's maimed body with a fellow scout, he refused to see him again. Poor Milo was traumatized by the screams Felix could not contain when he realized that would indeed live to see another day. I suppose it was the pain that finally registered when Milo called out his name, or perhaps it was the prospect of having to live in this Hell longer than desired that made Felix cry out in objection. Either way, Milo refused any contact with Felix, red eyes wide and sunken.

Not finding the energy to continue standing, I lowered myself into a crouch, resting my arms on the cot next to Felix's head, silently crying into the fabric of the sheets. I spoke no further. I had no words to say. Apologies for my absence would not suffice for the amount of pain he had to endure and the amount of hardships he will soon face in the future. All I could do was be there for him, help him get accustomed to the new change in his life. That is only if he makes it past recovery.

The doctor had also informed me about the less-than-likely chance of Felix's survival. I shuddered a breath at the reminder. His name was plaguing my thoughts. Everything I did, every time I moved, every breath I would take, every scent I would smell, I would somehow link it to Felix. It was as if my penance for not being present during Felix's struggle for life was to be in a constant reminder of the good man that lays dying in my stead.

The room, being in the middle of the clinic, lacked windows. The only source of light was from the few candles that littered the walls and a small glass patch in the pitched roof, though the heavy-fogged day occluded any source of natural light from entering. A metallic smell of blood threatened my sanity. It was pungent, so pungent that I was forced to keep the sleeve of my shirt over my nose because I knew that the blood was Felix's. It was just another reminder of the boy I failed to save.

In the midst of my silent mourning, Felix abruptly began coughing, his body violently shaking to the point where the entire cot began to move with him. I yelped in surprise, jumping back onto the ground, looking at Felix with wide eyes and a palpitating heart. The nurse immediately ran over to him, rolling his body to the side when she caught sight of blood dripping out of the side of his mouth.