Eugene stands in front of the bombed-out church, hands balled into fists. His hands tremble, a sickly grayish blue from the bitter cold. Eugene's never been this cold before. It seeps through his uniform, settling deep in his bones. He's not sure if he'll ever feel warm again.
His gaze drifts to the worn piece of fabric he's clutching, trying to make sense of what he just saw. This can't be it. This can't be all that's left of her. Renée. A rare bright spot in the dark. A twinge of pain seizes his chest as the realization hits him. She's dead.
He's not sure why this is so hard. It's not like Eugene hasn't seen people die. He can't begin to count how many people he's seen die since the war started. Renée's different, though. Renée understands. Understood.
They've both seen what war does to a person- mentally and physically. Another wave of bombs rain down, peppering the earth with more destruction. Nothing's left untouched by war. Every battle leaves some sort of mark. He wonders if anything will be left of Bastogne by the time this fight's over.
Meeting her was one of the few times he genuinely smiled. There was something about Renée that felt familiar, natural. I won't forget this; I won't forget her. The nurse with a belle âme- a beautiful soul. It isn't fair. She was only trying to do good in a world that's been thrust into chaos. It's what they're all trying to do.
Most of the buildings are nothing more than piles of rubble littering the street, bodies lurking just beneath the surface. "Medic! Get your ass over here!"
Eugene shoves the scarf in his pocket, biting his lip to keep the tears from falling. He can't do this. Not now. There are others who need his help. The only thing he can do is keep going and try to save those who are still here. Even that's almost impossible. I'm only human.