Painted Scars: Prologue

Beep. Beep.

Strong hospital smell. Looks like I lived.

I try opening my eyes. It doesn’t work. The anesthesia is probably just starting to wear off. At least there is no more pain. There are hushed voices coming from my left, but they are subdued, and even though they sound familiar, I can’t recognize them.

Beep. Beep.

“Can he hear us?”

“No. He’s heavily sedated.”

Beep.

“Will he live?”

“Yes. Unfortunately. The wounds on his chest were not that bad. They patched him up.”

“We can always try again. Pin it on the Italians again.”

“Too risky. People are loyal to the Pakhan. Anyone suspects me, and I’ll end up in a ditch.”

Beep.

“Well, there might be a silver lining. The shrapnel shattered his knee.”

“So?”

“Doctor said he won’t walk again. If someone more capable comes into the picture . . . people, no matter how loyal, will hardly stand behind a pakhan who’s in a wheelchair when presented with a better option.”

“Well, I guess we did well after all.”

There are two sets of steps leaving, and then a door closes.