" May my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living."

- E. E. Cummings

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Hazel blinked herself awake and pain immediately consumed her entire being again. The nightmare last night hadn't been as bad as the night before, but it was fresh in her mind. She hated that it was that fresh in her mind. Hazel grimaced as she sat up and her hand went to her wound, which had bandage changes every few hours.

It was a stark reminder of the war and of the horrors that Bastogne held. But today was the day she had been promised a hot shower, an actual hot shower, where the water was warm and there was soap and she could feel some sort of warmth for a moment or two. Hazel looked towards her bedside table and saw water and a pill sitting there.

Amelia.

Amelia Beckett had been one of the nurses to really help Hazel these first few days, making sure she ate and drank and remained clean as she could before her shower and that her wound didn't worsen. Hazel slowly pulled her feet over the edge of the bed and let her cold feet touch the ground. A shiver was sent up her spin. She looked towards the bed beside her.

A man had come in the other day, unconscious, with wounds that looked worse than Hazel's and Hazel learned he had extreme blood loss. His skin was pale and his body was all curled into itself and freezing. He had woken up yesterday, but he barely spoke, barely ate and Hazel had seen Amelia try plenty of times to get him to swallow food but he refused.

It was like he wished he had died.

Hazel let out a shaky sigh and then reached over and grabbed his cup of water and the pill before taking it quickly.

Her hands went to her side, and pulled back only the crimson red blood that flowed from the wound.

Hazel swallowed the pill softly, her eyes staring straight forward, gaze compromised.

The blood was bright red - fresh. And it stung. It stung horribly. She remembered the sight through blurry eyes.

Hazel slowly glanced down towards where the wound was and lifted up the soft shirt she had been provided because the ODs were too constricting for the wound.

It pulsed, the entire wound and it ached. She remembered getting a paper cut as a kid. She never thought pain could amount to this.

Hazel stared at the bandage that covered her entire chest, wrapped gently around, covering where the wound lay underneath. She gently touched the wound and pulled her hand back quicker than her hand touching a hot pot.

Her tears were salty, streaming down her face as if they were to fall into a sea, watering the dark fills of land all over the world.

Hazel's heart raced as she stared at the wound, her breathing rate picking up as a bead of sweat formed along her forehead.

Her cries were like a baby bird's, calling out to it's mother, pleading for mercy, pleading for aid and help, pleading for its mother to take it safely under it's wings again.

But she had pushed the baby bird out of the nest for a reason.

Hazel slowly touched the wound again and a shock filled her system at the immediate pain that flowed through her chest and she grimaced at the mere thought of it.

The baby bird had needed to fly. Hazel's cries were one with the baby bird except she couldn't fly, she had gotten wounded in the process. Wounded ones died off.

Hazel's shaking hand gently felt around the layer of bandage, her fingertips gently prodding it with ease before she let her trembling hand drop to the side and into the soft covers of the scratchy cot.

Hazel remembered how the stars had looked, but that's all she remembered seeing before she passed out, they're twinkle, they're brightness never fading even in the darkness of the night.

Why had she faded out?

Going out like a light?

Hazel sucked in a shaky breath as her hand softly pressed against the wound again. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head softly.

When she'd brought in that breath of gasping air last, what had it been like? To nearly brush a knock on death's door and have him decide you had much more to live for in this cruel world?

Hazel slowly looked up, sucking in another breath as tears rushed to her eyes. She blinked; she blinked hard, to let the tears escape her clouded features. She told herself to stop crying. Each day since the wound had been marked as a sign of war on her body, she had cried. Cried for the pain she felt on the surface, but for the pain in her mind, her inability to accept it all that she had succumbed to the mere darkness of a surface level wound which she could recover from. That she pitied herself as much as she did when people like Bill Guarnere and Joe Toye had lost their legs.

Hazel had laid in the snow, unconscious to the world, but her mind failed to cease as a cat with a yarn ball knocked around her brain, hitting just about every emotional memory that had sparked a reaction in her to suddenly play like a script in front of her.

Hazel glanced towards the nightstand, and gently grasped it. She was determined to stand on her own, move the two legs she had back and forth and move them across the tent to the bathroom on her own.

She remembered as a child, attempting to stand and look out over the edge of the mountain her and her mother would hike up and be so scared to even take a wavering step towards the edge. Her knees were like jelly.

Her knees still felt as if jelly was switched for bones.

Hazel's hands gripped the old wooden and damp nightstand and pushed herself up, her body aching as she did so, a hand pressed against her wound as she squeezed her eyes shut so tightly, praying it would stop hurting once she stood.

Her first steps as a baby had been across the rug in front of the fireplace, when they still had their old dog Betsy who had been 16 years old. Hazel never understood as a child why she died, Hazel just thought that she had decided to go off somewhere else and live with all the other dogs.

Hazel figured she was happier there.

But that dog had witnessed her first steps.

Hazel slowly felt her trembling hands let go of the nightstand, and tried to move her legs forward, without collapsing. She felt herself swim for a second, all in her head and her hands went to he nightstand immediately. She shut her eyes, to steady herself, to center herself. She was fine.

Hazel remembered being too scared to jump from the monkey bars as a child, she was afraid to fall and scrape her knee on the mulch ground or ruin her dress. Her parents had been short on money. The dress was the best she had owned.

Hazel was too scared to let go of the nightstand, which stood in between her bed-bound self and the freedom of something that was given to her freely as a human being. Hazel bit back her lip and whispered a soft prayer to herself.

Hazel had been a young girl when she had first started to understand the meaning of the prayers which left her family's lips at dinner. What they meant, they're importance, their importance to herself. She still prayed today.

Hazel's fingertips left the nightstand and she let her shaky legs take a step forward, the dizziness hitting her next. She was getting to that bathroom on her own this time. But when she took the fateful next step, on her injured side, a groan of pain left her being, as she grasped a hand over the wound and fell slightly against the nearby post which held up the foot of the cot.

Hazel wasn't one to get involved in many people's lives. She had seen what getting involved in her father's life had done. She had watched Maggie Clearwater shove the new girl into a pole and then blame it on one of her friends. Hazel vowed never to shove anyway, even herself against a pole and blame it on another.

Hazel pushed up off the pole and pushed a gently hand on the pole as she let out a trembling breath. Being put in the room where there wasn't a lot of action, had its perks, but it was a struggle, they were all so busy on the other side with people in worse condition than Hazel herself.

" You're a little short for a 4th grader aren't you?" Maggie said, snickering behind her hand, which had perfectly manicured nails. " And that dress, as if I'd wear that to a public school." Her little friends laughed around her as Hazel had stood, her hair flying from the tiny braids her mother had put her hand in that day, dirt upon her knee and the ends of the dress, as she had been picking nearby wildflowers that bloomed in the playground area.

Hazel narrowed her eyes, staring at the bathroom symbol, the tiny stall she aimed to move towards today. Hazel groaned again, pushing off from the wooden poll and slowly, ever so slowly put each foot in front of the other, her body getting her closer and closer towards the stall. Hazel had stared back at them.

" Oh didn't you forget? She's mute." Maggie said a laugh exploding from her mouth, as Hazel stood at her locker in 9th grade, tears threatening her vision, " I guess Daddy always hoped for one of those, or wait, no he's gone." Hazel had shut her eyes, and the locker and walked off.

Hazel's yearn to take each step one in front of the other, moving towards the stall, became more powerful with each step. She was determined. And Hazel determined was a sight to see.

As Hazel presented her project on the stars, in the 11th grade, she could see Maggie laughing in the back of the classroom, with all of her friends, as they pointed. Juliette, her real acquaintance, so much so that Hazel considered her a friend, had told them off after class. Lucas Widener had given her one of his chocolate bars that day after class and had told her to ignore them.

Hazel took step after step forward, forcing herself to take each step and ignore the slowly numbing pain in her lower abdomen and upper leg. As she neared it, she could read the sign clearly, it was all so clear, compared to her last few days of fog that had controlled her.

Hazel did ignore Maggie and her group of friends who had decided it was fun to take out their securities on Hazel Parker, the girl who was fatherless. Hazel though, continued on her academics. She knew she'd get nowhere in life wasting her time on them. Her experience with her father had made her stronger, a little quiet and a little more cautious but it was a quiet and strong braveness. People will say words behind your back that they don't have enough courage to say in front of your face.

Those were true cowards.

Hazel Parker was not a coward.

Her hand slowly grasped the door hand and she rapped her knuckles against the door. There wasn't a response. She let a soft groan leave her lips, a pained one. Using the bathroom hurt, sitting down was like there was popping inside her abdomen, like the stitches there would burst.

She'd gotten her first set of stitches when she had slipped and fell on her chin, almost busting a lip. Maggie had made fun of her for it - but when did Maggie not made fun of someone who was anything but perfect. Hazel told herself no one was perfect, because then were you even human if you were perfect.

God had created humans with flaws, flaws that made you, you and Hazel lived by that. If you were insecure or angry, that's okay, but God didn't ever hope that a human would take that out on another.

It was the sad truth.

Hazel had shuffled towards the sink, her legs already hurting from holding her body up. The wound had made enough impact to spread to the top part of her leg, enough to be painful where walking was even a challenge. It was like Hazel couldn't even notice that her hands were brushing against each other scrubbing the pain and despair and anger that had been inside her body for the first days here.

Hazel turned and had glanced over her shoulder a she watched Maggie get dumped by her long-time boyfriend Tommy Watkins. Maggie had sat there and cried tears in the hallway and her friends had abandoned her. Hazel had watched from afar, as Maggie moved about, like the quiet girl Hazel had been.

Hazel slowly looked down at her hands in the hot water and watched as blood came seeping into the soapy water. She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered the feeling, the impact the shrapnel had made, the aching disease that seemed to spread across her entire body, an unsettling grimace that left her lips and the blood that had shown on her fingers.

Hazel had approached Maggie.

She wasn't upset for Maggie's wrongdoings, and Hazel knew that sometimes people who were suffering even worse, just liked to take it out on others because they had no outlet. Maggie's friends had never been her real friends, it's why her anger was taken out on others, she just wanted her fake friends to like her for who she was.

Hazel knew God hadn't made her perfect, he had made no one perfect, it was the uniqueness of the human being, something that made humans special, all things special, created by God's touch.

Hazel was quiet, but she wasn't a bad person.

She was closed-off to many, but she wasn't a bad person.

Hazel was just Hazel.

And Maggie was just Maggie.

And in that moment, when Hazel had approached the girl on the floor, tears on her cheeks, mascara running, they had been two humans, recognizing the flaws of human nature of human beings themselves.

Hazel had helped her stand up and bring her to the nearby bathroom. Hazel had quietly helped Maggie remove her makeup and even apply it back on her face. Without a single word spoken from her lips. Maggie had watched Hazel as if she were cowering in fear, like Hazel would start berating her in the public school bathroom.

An innocent girl, forced to grow up too fast, forced to understand things an 8 year old shouldn't have to understand yet.

Hazel stared at her blue eyes in the mirror, the ones who had watched Maggie cry that day in the bathroom stall, watched her finally break, finally come to terms with herself, finally become a blubbering mess.

But Hazel had simply helped her, a fellow woman helping another.

Hazel remembered God's words, of making sure to love your enemies, even if you didn't like them, if you couldn't agree with them, if you couldn't see past their motives.

Love was more powerful than anything in this dark and grim world. Some would even think it were as forceful as gravity.

So Hazel helped Maggie that day and even if the two girls never talked to each other again after that, Hazel had put God's wisdom through herself and into Maggie. Hoping, praying that maybe there'd be some sort of change within her, some sort of humanity driven thing that would cause a switch to flip.

Hazel saw Maggie the next day, her clothes looking like they had a gentler tone, she wore her hair in loose curls, into the pinned up curls, pressed in that she always wore. And even if her eyes were puffy, and her smiles weren't as genuine, she seemed different a good different.

Even if Hazel would never utter another word to her, the look the two cast in the hallway that day in school had been one Hazel would remember. It looked to be filled with hope. Not everyone you cared for, you had to stick around with, just sorta like a guardian angel watching from afar.

Was that who God was to Hazel, continuing to pass his wisdom through her own mind as she stood there with the pulsing wound, delivered by the enemy?

The enemy which had taken so much? She was still struggling to fully believe it all, but as she looked back, doing what she did for Maggie had been enough living proof for her.

Hazel quickly shut off the water before turning and stepping outside again. As she walked, she felt her limbs stronger than when she had walked towards the bathroom in the first place. Hazel took each step gently, her feet nimble and poised.

Hazel limped more like it towards the bed, the small pillow that she laid under her head at night, lying at a sideways angle and the blanket thrown over. It was all so simple but for a wounded soldier, a wounded human being, it meant much more than that.

It meant a place of healing, but a place of dark, nightmarish memories which consumed them once the eyelids shut for the day after doing their duty.

Nightmares were a usual thing for little Hazel as she stayed up, sitting by the window at night, praying to the stars above that whoever had a hold of her mind each night would let her go. She would sit in her nightgown, clutching Mr Snuggles, her bunny that was yellow, close to her chest as innocent tears bubbled in her eyes. She wished it would all stop.

The nightmares of the hit, the impact, the passing out, what the stars had looked like, so bright in the sky, flashed through her brain without second thought as she stood there staring at the cot.

Hazel sucked in a breath, before releasing a shaky tremor immediately after. Hazel's hand went to her wound, as if she were battling a ferocious beast, protecting something from it, hiding it, holding it there, keeping it safe as she limped towards the cot where she had previously stood up from.

Hazel gave a glance to the soldier who was curled in the other cot, asleep, with a full meal on his nightstand. Hazel shut her eyes and shook her head before slowly shuffling around to get herself seat. Her hand gently touched the nightstand.

Hazel had a quote on the nightstand at her house, a special one her mother would always whisper out in Polish before Hazel would shut her eyes and let the grasp of nightmares begin, her own battles with the demons that were ever-present inside her mind. ' You are stronger than you think you are, wiser than you know you are, and braver than what you make yourself to be.'

Hazel slowly lowered herself down onto the cot, her feet leaving the ground as her bottom hit the cot.

And then there she was, sitting alone on the cot, staring forward again, like a little bird, waiting for its mother to tell it, just one more time.

One more time.

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hi! i don't know if you can tell why this is my favorite chapter or not but when i developed hazel i knew she would be this shy, quiet, humble girl, who went to Church, believed in God, believed in God morals, things like that. her character calls for more things thought in the mind and explained than dialogue, which i feel is unique. hazel doesn't always need dialogue to express herself and i love that. for hazel, she was a character of her own, and i feel this chapter really shows that, without really any said dialogue which i love. it flashes back to memories of her past, of her present of the injury, of the struggle to simply stand and walk over to the bathroom. i hoped that this evoked emotion of someone struggling, to show what it was like, what went through their head, in a sense the ptsd. i really hoped that's what i brought across!! thank you so much for reading!! i really loved this chapter!