Free The Eyes of the Dead by G.R. Yeates

gone.
    She felt pierced to the core. She sank down. Her knees giving away. Tears spilling down her cheeks. Her throat gagging on grief. The words became a spidery, indecipherable plague of letters. Something inside her gave way. She could not remember telling Mother and Kitty a thing. It was all a blur, a grey shapeless fog.
    She could remember discovering Mother the next morning, hanging dead from the crossbeam, her feet made fat, and stained near-black, by livor mortis. Her lips bulging out as a white crust of bloodlessness. Those eyes, all of the capillaries broken open, making them into hellishly livid bubbles staring off into nothingness, out to nowhere.
    Madeleine remembered the words of their housekeeper, Miss Hearn, as they stood on the platform at Victoria station. The train hissing, impatient.
    “You be careful, my dears. This war will ruin your hands. Just make sure it does not ruin your hearts n’all. You’ve had a devil of a time, losin’ your folks and your uncle. Mind you don’t let things get on top of you. There’s no worse judge of us and what we do than ourselves, you mark my words.”
    Madeleine looked down at her hands and smirked at the memory of the old woman’s remark. Miss Hearn had not been wrong. Her hands were not as they had once been. Scrubbing, cleaning, brushing, fetching and carrying had made sure of that. She picked at the remains of blisters, wondering how Miss Hearn was. Communications between the continent and England were haphazard. She hoped to see the village of Sevengraves again, someday. She imagined arriving there, with the sun out. Everything bright and beautiful. The cottage door opening. Miss Hearn being there, waving them both inside with a flutter of her veined hand. The table laid. A feast of roast pork, vegetables and potatoes. All ready for them to tuck into.
    Madeleine was disturbed from her dreamy reflections by one of the orderlies walking in. It was Dawson.
    “Time for your round, Sister. You asked me to come and get you.”
    He was a balding man with a limp face. Bands of wrinkles traced their way over his mottled skin. His hands seemed bigger than they should be. His frame was a wiry one and he slouched as if the weight of his large hands bore him down to the ground.
    His eye caught hers.
    Madeleine averted her eyes from his gaze and swung her legs off the bed, slipping her feet into her shoes. She began fastening them, “Thank you for letting me know, Dawson. Please don’t call me Sister on the ward though. I’m a VAD. You know how Sister Fearing is if we’re referred to otherwise.”
    “‘Course. Sorry ‘bout that, Sister.”
    Madeleine smiled at him and stepped outside, brushing against Dawson as she did.
    There was a loud crash from the direction of the nearest ward hut.
    ******
    Wilf was a pock-marked youth from the east end of London. He’d been nothing but trouble since being sent back from the Front. The crash of metal had come from a trolley. It now lay overturned on the floor of the hut. An orderly was standing there. Hands bunched into fists. Ready to teach Wilf a lesson he would never forget as Madeleine entered the hut.
    Kitty was sitting on the bed with Wilf.
    Kitty was the one who always seemed to be able to talk sense into the rowdier ones. Madeleine knew why. Kitty was the prettiest girl in the hospital. She’d blossomed since leaving England. Her figure curving into a shapely hour-glass. She had the sweetest elfish smile too. It brought out her dimples, working a subtle magic on the boys. It wasn’t just her looks though that made her so popular. She was always calm and approachable. Madeleine was prone to being snappy after too little sleep, but not Kitty. She was always on her best behaviour. Kitty looked up. She saw Madeleine approaching, said a few more words to Wilf, then went over to her sister.
    “What upset him this time, Kitty?”
    “He’s going back to the Front tomorrow. Dr Meredith wouldn’t give him a Blighty ticket.