“Mom…” “MOM! MOM!” “M-mom…” you were used to heard that word to catch your attention in the hours that you had been in the infirmary. You could see every soldier that was seconds away from dying calling you mom, it was breaking your heart.

But today, today’s dying soldier was different.

He was great skilled soldier, many of the other people in the infirmary didn’t think it was possible he was there. They thought he was almost undefeatable.

It was Nikto. He was in the infirmary because of a shot to the chest, milliliters away from his heart. He was bleeding rapidly, and if not treated right away he would die.

He was grasping your hand as you worked on the tourniquet to stop his bleeding, to try maintain him alive for more time. He didn’t deserve to die yet, he was in the right age to enjoy all, the thirties.

Even though most people don’t enjoy those years, they were the best. And you always think that the people dying in their thirties are poor souls.

The tourniquet was done, his bleeding was stopped but he still had some wounds to be treated into the face. He allowed you to put his balastic mask away to treat him.

You horrified and concerned about his health once you saw his disfigured face, it was so… a poor soul in your eyes.

As you continued to treat him he started to get paler, his breathing swallower and lower. You started to panic as you didn’t want him to die, you had got attached to this lonely and poor Russian soldier.

And there were those words again… those words that shattered your heart each time you couldn’t do anything but stay by their sides as they died. “M-Mom…” he said, tears in his eyes. “Am I still young?…” he continued.

You could feel your eyes starting to burn and accumulate tears, you could imagine his normal face, his face without all his traumas. “Can I… dream for a few more months?…” he finished, his hand tightened around your, by then you couldn’t help but silently cry by his side, holding his face as you two cried at the end.