The Death of Me
"I'm not hurt!" A voice bellowed though the halls of the Red Cross, alerting the nurses that a new patient had arrived. "Put me down! I'm not injured enough that you-"
"Young man!" An older gentleman snapped at the wriggling teenager that he, and another were carrying into the hospital. "It doesn't matter how bad your wound is, every wound needs to be checked on."
"But I'm able to walk! Let go of me!" The two men finally gave in, and set the boy, who had nothing but a slight head injury, onto the stone floor.
"We wouldn't have had to carry you, only you wouldn't come willingly." The two men led him though a pair of double doors and over to a couple of nurses who were already whispering about the commotion. "Please take care of him," the older man said. He and the other man left the boy there.
He inhaled deeply and put a hand on his bloody forehead. "Listen, it's not that bad."
The nurses giggled and led him to a large room where they told him to lie down on one of the beds, and that another nurse would be in to tend to him. So he was left with nothing else to do but listen to the faint voices behind the door.
"Miss Fay," he heard one of them say, "could you tend to this young man?"
The boy sat up on the already bloodstained bed. Since there was a war going on, and so many wounded soldiers were being brought in, nobody had had time to clean them. As the boy was poking at a rather large area of fainted red, a nurse came through the door. She was about the same age as he was, and beautiful. So beautiful, that she made the boy gasp in surprise.
She took an equally bewildered look at him, and said, "I see that it's your head." She proceeded over to a tub of water, and pulled a wet washcloth out of it.
The boy winced as she pressed it to his forehead. "Does it hurt?" The nurse asked.
"No."
She finished cleaning his wound, and pulled a bandage from a pack around her waist. "This should stop the bleeding," she said as she carefully tied it around his head.
"What's your name?" The boy asked suddenly.
"Daisy Fay," she answered as if his question didn't surprise her in the least. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Jame- uh Jay. Jay Gatsby."
Daisy giggled. "It's nice to meet you Jamejay Gatsby."
"No it's just-" Jay cut himself off when he realized she was joking with him. eHe s
He smiled, the first time since he had arrived in the hospital. The two got to talking, and the subject of a date came up somewhere in their conversation. Jay asked Daisy if she would like to meet him for dinner sometime, and she said yes.
"I'd love to go on a dinner date with you, Mr. Gatsby. But I'd rather not eat around all your soldier friends," She said, smiling.
"I don't think we would be," Jay laughed. Daisy had an interesting personality. But it made him much more interested in her.
"Daisy! Daisy, where are you?" A nurse called from the hallway.
Daisy shot a look towards the door. "I should get going," she said, "I guess I'll…see you later?" She put her hand on the door, and took a last look at him.
"Later it is," Jay said with a smile.
Daisy left, but popped back in for a second. "One more thing. Don't get killed out there."
Jay was left by himself to think. To think about Daisy. He smiled, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her out of his head. He thought for a moment that it might be abnormal.
"I won't die in the war Daisy," he said jokingly, "you will be the death of me."