I don’t usually do this but I really need to vent. I’ll delete this later.
My country is currently being hit by a terrible disaster near where I live, I myself was stuck in said disaster a few days ago and got lucky because I found my way home.
I went to work last Saturday and it was raining heavily non-stop for the whole day. The water started rising but my boss kept insisting we should still meet despite the flood. Flooding is normal in my country but it’s unusual for the state I work in to flood so when it happened two days ago, it hit hard and we were stuck on the highway. Almost all the highways to leave said State are closed and I was stuck in the car for 10 hours trying to find my way home. I was scared, worried, and tired. The waters are rising and I worry that I’m going to die. I keep trying to find my way out the whole night but to no avail. I was very very lucky that my mom had a friend who lives nearby and wasn’t affected by the flood so I stayed with her for a night. It was a traumatizing event and I’m still shaking every time I think about it.
I was lucky. Super fucking lucky. And it frustrates me so much when I can’t do anything to help my people. And I’m so fucking angry at my government for not doing anything except for visiting the flood site. The civilians are the one who has been helping the flood victims and it just hurts seeing people’s cries for help on twitter and finding out people dr*wned. God, it hurts so much and I can’t do anything to help. There are children, pregnant women, elderlies still stuck at the place and there’s nothing the government has done to help them. The civilians trying to get in the area are not allowed in because they didn’t have the clearance which is fucking bonkers. People are dying and you still need clearance?????
To the politicians who did nothing to help us and instead went to launch their convention, play with fireworks, and cutting cakes. Fuck you. We’ll remember this.
To my Malaysian readers, please, stay safe. And to any of you who lives in Selangor, particularly in Shah Alam, I’m sorry I can’t do anything to help you. I’m so so sorry.
I’m giving the @yuckwhump 10 Trails writing challenge a go!
(Info here: https://yuckwhump.tumblr.com/post/629485275921383424/welcome-to-the-ten-trails-whump-challenge-and )
Trail 6: Aches and Pains
Prompt 1: Burns
I’ve challenged myself to write 500-1000 words (this is 1105 oops) and to make more generalized whump since I tend to get real specific with my characters. So I’m going with a barely used OC I created last year for that purpose!
These stories will center around ‘Caretaker’ who works on space stations as a first aid/paramedic type person, and the things that they do. I don’t normally write caretaking so that’s another challenge!
Feedback is welcome if you have any, thanks!
TW: suggestion of PTSD/Traumatic events, large disaster, people trapped, descriptions of injuries, death (un-named characters)
any other TW/CW please let me know!
---
Frantic pounding of feet and fists, screeching alarms and an extra large shot of adrenaline brought Caretaker so quickly to their feet they ran into the door of the tiny sleeping quarters. In a moment of pause as they pressed their palm to their forehead they realized the need to get dressed in something more practical than pajamas.
Flying past security and tearing through the panicked crowds of people going the opposite direction, nobody thought to check the security tag around Caretaker’s neck; their bright green jumpsuit worked fine. Arriving at Sector 83 they could smell the disaster even with the massive firewall closed, but the chaos amidst the deafening roar of flames were what Caretaker would remember for years to come.
Desperately looking around they spotted the hovering marker for the Zone Commander and activated their own marker, MEDIC: LVL 5 SC60-100. Throwing a quick salute they waited as the Commander pulled up the current deployed ranks and quickly tossed a new designation at them, changing the marker to MEDIC: FIELD TRIAGE 20. Pointing in a vague direction they turned to direct incoming stretchers and further personnel.
People were trapped. Screaming. Burning alive. The smell of melted flesh and plastic was acrid on their nose and the heat singed the back of their throat as they carefully but quickly made their way through the wreckage to the Triage Officer with the number 20 above their head. Alarms blazed and flames whistled in the distance as the fire team fought the inferno, the space so large they looked like dolls in the distance under the towering waves of fire.
Caretaker forced themself to keep their eyes on the destination and not on the desperately people waving fingers or scraps of cloth from below rubble. They focused on the sound of their breathing as they tried to force it into a rhythm instead of hearing the pops, sizzles and moans of people and things that somehow could be heard above the flames and overworking ventilation system.
A flick of the wrist and Triage Officer 20 gave Caretaker a map that they pulled up, highlighting their search area. No further communication was needed, everyone had done the same simulations and studied the same scenarios.
Everyone had the same hope they’d never have to use it.
“Yes, Xur!” Caretaker hurried onward.
Firefighters were pushing back the flames to the source, exposing more areas and wounded. Letting the marker overlay a pattern that traced where Caretaker had been, they started in one corner of their map with a person laying beside a control panel, their limbs black and red and split open in several spots.
Still breathing. The air moved slowly, jagged and sharp as it whistled through a small space in a throat not yet swollen shut. Not for long.
There would be many more like this, time to move on. They hovered their hand over the body for a moment, “Black.” A chirp confirmed their marker had registered the assessment and uploaded the data, now any medics would see the overlay instantly and the transporters would know to move on and leave this one.
“Red.” Tying a tourniquet around the severed limb, Caretaker patted the shoulder of the wide eyed janitor but said nothing more, they had no comfort to give and no time to give it.
“Yellow. Xur, you need to move.” Caretaker’s careful eyes met red and panicked ones as the woman tried to say things back but Caretaker didn’t have time for it. “You can and you will. Xur, please. Go. Over there to Beacon 20, see? GO.” The push of authority in their voice startled the woman but she started moving, cradling her broken arm and moving almost robotically.
Their boots slipped on a hot metal plate and they shouted, scrambling up to their feet and blowing on their burned palms. Mostly first degree and some minor second degree, but they could push past it and worry about infection later. They could only carry so many supplies with them and their patients needed them more.
Three times Caretaker triaged their area, the second time managing to rescue and drag out three people themselves to cut down on the work for the transporters. It wasn’t exactly policy, but Caretaker needed to do something besides changing Red to Black while waiting for more help. After the third round there were no more Reds left, one way or another.
They went back to the Triage Officer for a new area, hiding their shredded and swollen hands. The officer noted their boots almost melted to their feet and their voice was too hoarse for comfort, sending Caretaker away from the hot zone to treat the Yellows.
Oxygen masks were shared amongst groups of three, wounds were cleaned and left out in the open air since clean bandages were rationed to place between fingers and toes or to keep membranes moist. Pained cries were ignored as Caretaker and the others swiftly moved from one patient to another, reassessing and changing priority for who was transported out next.
Their throats were gritty with soot and choked with resolve, there was little energy spared for kind words or comforting measures as the few treated the many. Caretaker’s hands were agony with every touch, they couldn’t spend the energy to comfort their patients despite the outreached hands and tears in their eyes. The hysterical ones were harder to manage, but Caretaker couldn’t hold it against them if the alternative meant the far off look they saw in the eyes of the silent ones.
It would take almost a full week for Caretaker to smell anything but singe and char again and two weeks before they would be able to enter the dining hall or kitchen areas without the smell of cooking setting their stomach off. Their friend helped them shower afterwards, pretending not to hear the hisses and whimpers of pain from every touch and splash. It was worth it to be rid the soot and smell, but Caretaker still didn’t feel clean after.
Their fingers were swollen and painful to move or touch despite the painkillers they took, which earned them three weeks of medical leave, useless for the first aid rooms since they couldn’t even do paperwork. Lighter burns covered their body in sensitive patches and they wore shorts for a week to give the blisters on their knees a chance to heal over.
Caretaker wanted nothing more than to go back to work, needing something, anything, to take their mind off the images and the smells that clung to them and projected onto the insides of their eyelids.
☁️ What’s something your OC wishes they could forget? Why is this? Or, what is something that your OC has forgotten? (or do both!) for zedyr
Who: Zedyr Guldarensyn
What: The apprentices of the Goldsmiths’ Guild have been called upon to stabilize damaged stonework throughout the city.
Where: Ul’dah
When: Several suns after the Seventh Umbral Calamity.
Content warnings: vivid descriptions of death, blood, disaster aftermath (earthquake); alcohol heavily mentioned (but not for drinking)
He can't stand the smell of alcohol. Beer, whisky -- doesn't matter. It all smells rotten. Like the damp, fetid odor of waterlogged wheat.
The stench seeps through the corridors, mingling with sand and dust, ash and--- and---
The miners’ guild, just next door to the ruined goldsmiths' workshop, burrows deep into the stone hillside. The tavern and its dancing girls are (were) an easy distraction for the apprentice smiths. No one blames them for lingering overlong when picking up a delivery of gemstones.
He was here not even a sennight ago.
The rack of casks on the back wall is tipped on its face. The smell of stale beer fills his nose, even through the bandana he is wearing to keep out the worst of the choking dust.
The floor is tacky with it. His boots stick to the stone.
The center of the room was the dance floor.
Broken columns, the vault collapsed. Stone blocks. Bricks, all disarray.
A splintered table leg sticks absurdly out of the chaos.
Dust, and dust, and dust.
Gloves. His fingers are half-raw anyway, from when he forgets.
They begin.
Stabilize. Excavate. Sort the debris.
Three suns of this, and he is almost numb to it.
Here, Zedyr, help me with---
Lift, as one. His knees crunch as they straighten.
Under the slab---
Under---
A slack face, peaceful except for the slick of dried blood. A metal tankard in her hand, half-crushed. The rest --
He can't look.
He has to look.
Rotten wheat and the stench of death.
Gloved hands pull away the stones of the haphazard cairn. Brick, sandstone, blood, worse.
Tears make tracks through the layer of dust, but the hands don't stop.
Saltwater drips, darkening stone.
Seawater on limestone, lavender on the tide---DON’T---
Three suns of this, and he is almost numb to it.
-------------------
Zedyr has nightmares -- flashes of vivid memory -- from this period of time, but most of it and the year following are a formless blur. In a sense, he both cannot forget it and cannot remember it.
He has only begun to feel able to visit Ul’dah in the past few years, but he still limits the length of his visits, and avoids the closed-in parts of the city; the feeling of sandstone brick under his fingers still makes him feel sick to his stomach sometimes.
☺ : What is your muse’s smile like? Do they smile often?
growing up in an era plagued by war, destruction and depression it is no surprise that some may be prone to losing their smiles, but for others, being able to find joy even amidst the darkness might even be a salvation. for shuutarou, the bright personality of his childhood friend perhaps mixed a bit with his own naivety and softness has reminded him that despite everything, there are also good things in life. for the most parts shuutarou has not forgotten his smile, but in the aftermath of the great earthquake leaving most of tokyo in rubbles, he often finds it harder to find those moments of joy. one person can only manage so much death and destruction at once.
⚡ : How does your muse feel about storms? Are they afraid of them, or do they calm them?
storms do not usually bring with them much good. the fear of ravage during typhoon season is realistic, and while he does not feel the fear to a phobic degree, one would be a fool not to be wary of the raging winds. furthermore, storms are noisy. certainly one would not expect an enemy raid under such threatening circumstances, but loud uncontrolled sounds may call forth unpleasant associations for any person who has been a child in war time.
