Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own MASH.
A/N: If you love it, review. If you hate it, review. If you read it, review. PLEASE!?!
The stars of Korea keep me company, the beautiful stars that gaze passively down at the earth. They care nothing of the fragile lives that are disrupted by the war. In a way this comforts me, it reminds me of home because these are the same stars that watch my house, as well as Korea…
Sometimes when it's late at night and quiet I like to go outside and just be still. Tonight I walk around the silent camp and I glance up, catching a glimpse of the stars. Whenever I think about the stars, I think about how very old they are. They have been around since the creation of the world. Tonight, however, it feels as if I share their age.
I am not a young buck anymore and this is brought to my attention every time a wounded soldier comes to my table. When I look down on the face of the boy that I am supposed to heal, it always brings a shock to me to discover how young he really is. Here in Korea, we operate on kids. It's not right.
And even as I look around camp I find that I am the oldest one here. The people I work with, the surgeons I work with, are all kids in their own right. They should not be here. They should not be forced to suffer such tragedy at such a care-free age. They are forced into being much older than they really are.
And working with all of these young kids scares me, because lately when the wounded start to come in, it is not the injured soldier's face that I see. No. It is the people I work with, my friends, who I see lying there on the table in front of me. Dying. It makes my hands start to tremble when I think that one day the faces of Hawkeye, and BJ, and Radar, and Klinger, might not be just illusions. That one day their lives will be dependent on my hands that seem to have aged since coming to Korea.
I look up, beseeching the stars to tell me if perhaps I am too old, and am struck by how silent and uncaring the stars are.