I don't know what it is about this story, but I find myself coming back to it. Don't expect anything huge out of it, though, it's doubtful this'll turn into anything steady or long-running. But, while it lasts, please review! I thrive on constructive criticism, so even if you don't like it, don't be shy.
Sidenote—does this woman have a name that anybody knows of? I don't want to make one up if she's already got one.
(Blah blah blah, I am a disclaimer)
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The woman had her ear pressed to the door, but all that came through were murmurs and tones. Good sign, the door was solid, nobody was going to come crashing through any time soon. The woman had no idea how long she had been here, lying sluggishly conscious at best against the cold metal door: there was a planetary clock up on the wall, but it looked like it had been hit with a stray round. At some point she had struggled the few meters across the room for a med-kit, and somehow had dressed most of her wounds with a roll of morphine tape, but she couldn't precisely remember doing it. But the remainder of the roll was lying next to her hand and the kit was now spilled across the floor, so that must be what had happened.
But now graced with at least temporary consciousness, the woman resolved to use it. Lying unconscious had its perks, not feeling being one of them, but her body needed water, bad. The whole place was kept prepared for the worst of disasters, so there had to be supplies in here somewhere. Trying not to jar any of her numerous injuries, she rolled to her other side to scan the room properly.
There. On the second shelf of the open catastrophe closet, a few bottles of water and a supply of MREs. She hadn't registered her hunger before, but just the sight of waiting nourishment, the thought of the taste of hot food, was plenty of motivation to get her moving. In a painfully shambling crawl, the woman forced her body to the open doorway, what felt like ten kilometers away.
The woman cautiously rested her weight on one elbow as she reached for what she needed. Finally, hugging the water bottle to her chest as she laid back down on the cold metal floor, she whispered a prayer, the first in years.
"Thank you."
And what will was left in her rejoiced in the simple ecstasy of water running down her throat and over her face, every drop breathing the same message to her ears. I am going to live.
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Yay! Hope for the merc woman! I feel good about myself now. Now, don't break the cycle of good feeling and review, y'all!