XXIV

How many days? How many weeks? How many months? Yongsun will not think about how many years, it makes her feel older than she is. The war has erupted into chaos, ever since the special operations unit returned (and, sadly, not all made it back), the frontier has faced many vicious attacks. The unit neither succeed nor failed and, therefore, no definite end has been determined.

Weapons have been technologically advanced: bullets do not create a wound, not all soldiers are living breathing humans. Yongsun hears about men who clank as they walk and have ticking hearts instead of beating ones. They breathe gas instead of air, smell of oil and fuel instead of dirt and blood from the battlefield. This is a development, a technological advancement. Yongsun knows this is a beginning or an end.

Yongsun is sitting on a chair beside Wheein, watching over her as she sleeps. Unlike most of the soldiers, who usually only get their flesh replaced with steel, Wheein had needed an entirely new arm. It had been difficult trying to find the right size and weight. Yongsun worries that, if they have measured incorrectly, Wheein might not be able to draw any more.

When the young soldier wakes up, she screams in fits of pain and agony at her lost limb. Yongsun leaves the tent, letting Wheein weep alone. Upon returning, she sees one of the nurses, Ahn Hyejin, sitting on the cot next to Wheein, a hand on the soldier’s back. Wheein raises her head slowly and smiles at Yongsun, asking if she has any paint or crayons lying around.