Being A Man Like Saint - Chapter Two
Cleaning the wounds in his mind as well as on his body....
Damien entered the building and slammed the door behind him. He slung his gun and other weapons onto the ground and walked around to find a first aid kit. He found a rusted metal box and opened it force fully. He found a bottle of alcohol and bandages. He threw the box aside and opened the bottle with abandon. He pulled off his shirt and placed it across his mouth. The blood was dripping across his wound and he observed how deep it was. As he picked up the bottle, he bit onto the shirt roughly. With shaky hands, he poured the liquid onto his arm and growled harshly. A sharp sting ran through his arm and he bit into the shirt harder, his teeth grinding through the thin material. He capped the bottle and threw it onto the ground. He grabbed a towel that was nearby and wiped his arm unsteadily.
He pulled out a roll of bandages and wrapped it around his arm. Throwing all his supplies aside he pulled up a chair and slumped onto it. He pulled the shirt out of his mouth and threw it onto the floor. His skin was sticky with sweat and the dried blood covering his arm. As he closed his eyes, a memory flashed in his mind. A gun pointed directly to his head. The shaking of the person wielding it. The way Damien's breaths came into heaving gulps. Somehow he had escaped that moment. The way it burned into his mind was forever. Nothing was able to erase it. The agony in that moment wasn't entirely how he had suffered; it was how the people around him had taken it. The people around that scene hadn't talked to him ever again. When he saw them, their cold glances to him sent a chill to his spine. That day he lost someone close to him. His partner was the one who pointed the gun toward Damien.
In the end, the gun bearer had lost it all. He pulled him out of the memory and looked around at the lifeless house. "SAINT, You useless son of a bitch!! Why aren't you listening to my demands? Get that big head of yours out of your ass and listen up! I need you to report back at HQ at 1300 hours and be dressed in formal attire." His commander barked into the radio. Damien felt like shooting the radio and even picked up his gun to prepare for it. He stood up with a groan and picked up the radio. He pulled his composure together and pressed the button. "Listen to this V. I'm in hostile territory with a bloody arm. I'll get there when I get there, how's that?" Damien said with a sarcastic tone.
He listened to the radio and heard the deep breathing of his commander. "If I were you Damien, I'd get into shape. You're lucky I'm nicer than I want to be." She said in an unsympathetic tone. Damien chuckled and thanked God she wasn't there with him at that second. "Fine I'll be there." He said with a deep sigh. He threw the radio into an open bag and looked around the room. He gathered all his belongings and carried them out of the abandoned house. He looked around at the empty area and examined a dried up trees on the side. The life had been sucked out of this old establishment. Now it was the poster child for death. He eyed the building which was now burned entirely. Damien went behind the house to his car and threw all his equipment into the back. As quickly as the flames went out, he was on the road heading back to the life he wished didn't exist.
He pulled out a roll of bandages and wrapped it around his arm. Throwing all his supplies aside he pulled up a chair and slumped onto it. He pulled the shirt out of his mouth and threw it onto the floor. His skin was sticky with sweat and the dried blood covering his arm. As he closed his eyes, a memory flashed in his mind. A gun pointed directly to his head. The shaking of the person wielding it. The way Damien's breaths came into heaving gulps. Somehow he had escaped that moment. The way it burned into his mind was forever. Nothing was able to erase it. The agony in that moment wasn't entirely how he had suffered; it was how the people around him had taken it. The people around that scene hadn't talked to him ever again. When he saw them, their cold glances to him sent a chill to his spine. That day he lost someone close to him. His partner was the one who pointed the gun toward Damien.
In the end, the gun bearer had lost it all. He pulled him out of the memory and looked around at the lifeless house. "SAINT, You useless son of a bitch!! Why aren't you listening to my demands? Get that big head of yours out of your ass and listen up! I need you to report back at HQ at 1300 hours and be dressed in formal attire." His commander barked into the radio. Damien felt like shooting the radio and even picked up his gun to prepare for it. He stood up with a groan and picked up the radio. He pulled his composure together and pressed the button. "Listen to this V. I'm in hostile territory with a bloody arm. I'll get there when I get there, how's that?" Damien said with a sarcastic tone.
He listened to the radio and heard the deep breathing of his commander. "If I were you Damien, I'd get into shape. You're lucky I'm nicer than I want to be." She said in an unsympathetic tone. Damien chuckled and thanked God she wasn't there with him at that second. "Fine I'll be there." He said with a deep sigh. He threw the radio into an open bag and looked around the room. He gathered all his belongings and carried them out of the abandoned house. He looked around at the empty area and examined a dried up trees on the side. The life had been sucked out of this old establishment. Now it was the poster child for death. He eyed the building which was now burned entirely. Damien went behind the house to his car and threw all his equipment into the back. As quickly as the flames went out, he was on the road heading back to the life he wished didn't exist.
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