You are a journalist who is writing a story about 12 year old soldiers and when you get shot the child soldiers rush you to their ER Doctor who is six years old . [ WP ]

`` Oh, oh God. Oh... how... how bad is it?'' 
 
 I lie on the gurney, squirming in pain. The bullet was still lodged inside him. 
 
 `` It does n't look good.'' A small, high-pitched voice said. The doctor walked next to me, placing his clipboard on the bed. He was barely tall enough to see over gurney, let alone reach me. 
 
 `` I'm afraid that leg's gon na have to come off.'' 
 
 `` What!?'' I screamed. It hurt to scream, to move. I grabbed my stomach, clenching in pain. `` But I was shot in the stomach! My leg is perfectly fine!'' 
 
 The doctor gave me a stern look. For a six-year-old he sure was intimidating. Or maybe I was just scared from being shot by a child. My entire purpose for being in this god-forsaken place was to report on the children soldiers being used to fight this war. I never intended to be even remotely close to the conflict itself! I just wanted an article, something to boost my popularity back home! 
 
 `` Look. *I'm* the doctor here. Who went to med school, you or me?'' He asked, looking at his iPad this time. He was typing something, or moving pages. I could n't see the screen. 
 
 `` Neither of us did! You're six and I'm just a journalist from Chicago! Ahh!'' My hand clenched deeper into my stomach. The bullet was infecting my blood, I could feel it. This was it. This was how I died- lying hopeless in a medical tent, surrounded by twelve-year-old soldiers and a doctor who could n't even see over my bed. How did it come to this? Was there no god? `` Can you **please** get me a doctor! An adult, a teenager, anyone! Just get this bullet **out of me**.'' 
 
 `` I ca n't believe this, this is n't even possible.'' The child doctor was staring intently at his screen, moving his finger around. 
 
 `` Oh God, what? What is it? What are you looking at?'' I questioned. In all honesty, I do n't know why I was so worried about what he was seeing. But I was, and the tone of my voice must have expressed it deeply. 
 
 He stopped looking at his screen and motioned for one of the other children to come to him. 
 
 `` Here,'' he stated, passing the iPad to the child. `` This level is impossible, there's way too many pigs for this amount of birds. I quit.'' 
 
 `` Oh. My. GOD! Are you playing Angry Birds while I'm bleeding out on a gurney!? What kind of person does that?'' 
 
 `` Okie dokie,'' he replied, picking up a bag of medical equipment. `` About that leg...''
