Re: Quicklog, Bioshock: Elena M & Cris M
[Elena knew that she wasn't right, she could read the same thoughts reflecting in Cris' oak luster eyes on the are instances that he glanced her way. It seemed illogical, to have spent so many years among bullets whizzing and the dying clutching her hand while she told them that it would be okay. Maybe she was flashing back, there was the acknowledged PTSD to contend with, and logically, she knew these things. Her wound wasnt fatal, she barely felt it if she didn't move her left arm, and she wondered if Cris thought she was hindering him. Again, she wondered why he was here at all. His life would be comfortable if things were like the past, if she was gone, if she was lost.
All of the death that they stumbled upon nearly undid her. The staggered breathing of her disbelief made many of the inhales come through her nose, despite her knowing better, but she couldn't help it. All of these poor people, there wasn't even enough of them to check to pulses or help. It was all guts and blood and brain matter, barely a man to fit it all back into. Elena covered her face with her hands, breathing through her fingers. Bullets fired, and she closed her eyes. She'd never been a soldier, she'd always been a medic. It was always difficult to lose somebody, and Elena had to remind herself that these people were long dead, they weren't hers to lose. Maybe she could have helped them. It felt like a strange failure that she hadn't, that she couldn't save everyone in the whole world.
Elena was only a few paces behind him, and she dropped into the water a minute after he did. The biting cold tore the breath from her lungs in a whoosh, a weep, a Spanish curse. Logically, she knew the cold would slow her bleeding, but it wouldn't be good for the shock. A double-edged sword.
She looked at Cris, wih surety and thoughtful silence, and she nodded to continue.]