Dust covers as far as the eye can see.

You don't remember what happened– an explosion, gunfire, and then what? The buildings are destroyed. Concrete and chunks of rubble coat the streets. And the people... God, what happened to the people? You don't want to know, but you manage to pull yourself out of the debris.

As you lay there, bruised and battered, the sound of weapons firing continue droning on in the distance. You wish they would stop, you might get caught in the crossfire. Your whole body aches, there are definitely a few broken bones somewhere.

The sound of approaching footsteps snap you out of your stupor. The figure of– a man? He's kneeling next to you. He's saying something, maybe he's telling you to not pass out? You don't remember. Darkness consumes you, and your eyes flutter shut.

When you wake up, the same man is treating your wounds. He's pulled you to the side, away from the wreckage. His hands are efficient, making sure that you're all bandaged up. "Someone's awake," He teases. "Guess that apple a day thing didn't work out for you."

Was it normal for combat medics to make jokes like that? Maybe not, but he was simply trying to lighten the mood. What you saw was traumatizing, after all.