klinger

(no subject)

Title: Sanity
Fandom: M*A*S*H
Disclaimer: Not mine, not being paid for it.
Author's note: Sidney Freedman's POV of Hawkeye.

The more I see of war, the more I wonder if sanity can survive in the face of it.

Then I go to visit Hawkeye, to see how my brilliant, deeply caring and sarcastic friend is doing and I realize that sanity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Maybe sanity is in the eye of the beholder. Or maybe it’s something that can be bent and twisted and stretched like toffee in order to create something wonderful. Maybe sanity is a choice to be made in between living with the memories made here and forgetting everything. Whatever it is, I hope Hawkeye regains his grip on sanity.

The end.

First time i've tried this...

First time i've ever posted anything to Livejournal.  In fact, i joined live journal so i could post this!

First M*A*S*H drabble as well so be gentle...  100 words not including the title...  The challenge was "escape".

*crosses fingers*

Healer Guard Thyself

 “You won’t escape.  Even if you leave this place I will dog your steps and sap your strength forever” This Death promised.

 Hawkeye nodded his accepted.  “But you’re trapped with me too.  You are what I make of you.”  He observed.

 Endlessly they battled.  Death twisting his childhood, snatching planes from the sky, swallowing the innocence of children and Corporal’s, bleeding into the corners of his mind waking and sleeping.

 Hawkeye laughed. 

 Finally, Death acceded to Hawkeye’s terms.    

 “The clown shoes I can cope with,”  Death sighed.  “But I’ll never adjust to the Groucho nose and glasses” 

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Real

This is my first ever try at writing, well, anything so I hope you enjoy. Feedback welcome.


They called Sidney.
No one could stop what happened to him once the sun went down. The escape he found in drink still made him numb but it was never numb enough. The escape he found in sleep was gone completely. He would wake up screaming in cold sweat. He dreamt of blood and murder and the useless waste of human existence. Going to sleep was as frightening as waking up. Those closest to him worried, not knowing how to help someone when they were drowning themselves.
They called Sidney.
“They are just nightmares”
“No, Sidney, this, this is real”


It's 100 so cookie to Hawkeye.
T-shirt Voices

Only One Cure

There’s no cure. Kids rush in, get stitched up, get sent back to the front line. We do the stitching. Sometimes they’re saved, sometimes they aren’t. We have no control over who lives and dies. We try our best to save everyone.

We know that isn’t always possible.

And they die.

They die in our arms, they die under our knives, they die in their beds.

They die waiting.

And we watch this tango with fate. And our hearts break at every last breath taken. We’re ill from the stench of death. And there is no cure.

So we laugh.

***

Cookie to Hawkeye, please!!!
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