𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟎 | 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐊

the shivering soldier felt numb by the time a hand reached into the water, pulling his limp body from the cold ocean water. his hand was clammy, but the palm against his was warm and soft by contrast. his body was limp, his muscles were tense and sore. he felt like he had been in the freezing water for years. it could’ve been hours. or mere minutes. he couldn’t remember much after the explosion.

he felt himself be hauled up onto the ship’s small deck. he stumbled shakily into the corner, curling into himself. his eyelids were heavy, and he wasn’t sure he could open them anymore. he looked up, squinting into the cloudy sky, as he focused his blurry vision on the figure in front of him. a woman. he felt a blanket being wrapped around his shuddering shoulders. it wasn’t the softest fabric, but it was better than his drenched uniform.

you’d asked him a question, but his voice wouldn’t speak. he opened his mouth to respond, but he couldn’t, just looking at you with an open mouth like a stupid goldfish.