Well, I feel less anxious
May. 6th, 2014 10:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
breezeshadow(Putting an edit at the top: I AM OKAY. I just identify with Kader a lot, and so writing her seemed like a good way to be creative and also get some of my anxiety/stress out. My mind is in a far better place than hers is. <3 )
It all felt horribly wrong again.
She curled into a tighter ball in the corner of her tiny room -- all there to stare back was a bad, rickety set of dressers, and any unfortunate bird flying near the window. Yet, even with logic telling there were no people seeing her, she could feel them. They all stared at her, frowns on their vaporous faces, judgment burning into their starlight eyes. They at least had no more features beyond that -- if her dreams were any indication, they were missing half of their skin and muscle.
What did they want? For two years she had run from them, and for the past year she had tried to atone. She had traveled through the poor mountain towns, giving her services for free, sending her savings into a neverending pit of despair and tears. She had barely any money to call her own, being paid in food, gratitude, and the occasional place to sleep. Yet every lost patient joined the disfigured in her dreams, staring.
And so now she hid in the corner, a razorblade near her foot, and blood congealed and sticky on her thigh. It had not helped. Because she could not feel the pain.
Tears burned in her eyes, but even they could not blur the clarity of those staring. She looked through her bed and the room, her gaze more dead than those of ghosts. She had healed, and cured, and refused any reward -- or was a bowl of porridge to live another day too much to take? Were three hours of sleep three too many? She grimaced and put her forehead on her knees.
The blade could give her that final punishment that the ghosts wanted, but she felt too tired to pick it back up again. Every breath was too much effort on a body that felt older than the earth.
You left them. Years-old thoughts, and yet they stayed painfully clear, bright in the darkness. You left them dying on the streets. You can't make up for that with a thousand lives.
Would they stare at her even once she died? She had figured dying meant nothing but blackness -- not even a trace of feeling. Perhaps that new uncertainty kept that blade away from her neck.
Great Mother, she just wanted to be free.
The slightest twinge hit her mind like a hot nerve; Kader jumped out of her ball, promptly falling up against the wall. Her hand landed on the razor and she dully felt it slice straight through the skin. At that moment, however, her greater concern was the hit. Most everyone knew what a telepath felt like, but this presence hadn't stayed. It smacked her mind, like a sharp knock on a door, then vanished. Scrambling to her feet, Kader looked frantically around the room.
Nothing. Absently grabbing her bleeding hand, the woman walked over to the window and looked outside. She didn't remember it becoming late evening; last she checked, it was afternoon. She was going to go out after lunch, treat some more patients, check up on those in recovery--
Did she have lunch? She didn't remember.
She leaned her forehead against the cool window, tears falling. The hours had flown from her; it was far too late to go out now. She would just be interrupting people, and she would cause more harm than good. Maybe those who were expecting her would be-- no, by now they were sighing, shaking their head, and saying that doctor, they knew she was a quack, no question about it, she was a woman--
Why couldn't you come sooner? The bitter thought exploded in her mind; she had no idea if the telepath was still there, and with gritted teeth turned from the window and sat on the bed.
Wasn't aware I was supposed to.
She nearly fell off the bed, instead getting bloodstains on it from catching herself. She winced, more from guilt than pain. Sorry. It's not your fault.
Are you okay? There was barely a question in the voice, and she could feel the concern flood her mind. The emotions were foreign in too many ways. I was asked to check you were alive by an old friend.
An old-- And then it hit her like a bullet, straight through her heart. Tegre?
That's the one. Should I tell hi--
No! Not Tegre; but of course it was. She had the letters he sent tucked at the bottom of her bag, so when she used up her supplies helping people, then she could read them. It had never happened, however; she would need to refill items for patients, or encounter slow moments, and thus the bottom never materialized. The letters were forgotten, just more useless paper close to her.
He would be so disappointed in her. She was supposed to improve, be better, be perfect. Instead she was seeing dead people's judgment and panicking straight through a day. She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks.
Please just inform him I'm alive. She began shoving items into her travel bag -- the razorblade, a few stray clothes. I... Don't tell him about this. Please.
Heavy silence filled her mind, before the concerned voice returned. Okay. Please let me know if I can help. You're... You're blank.
Kader closed her eyes as the presence retreated; darkness greeted her, and the characteristic nothing. But now his words kept interrupting it: blank, blank, blank.
She swung both of her bags over her shoulder, counted out the paltry coins remaining. She would give her remaining supplies to the people in this town. She could sell the bag for decent amount in the city over. She had enough for a carriage. If she kept a few supplies, she could make money treating people on the trains, until she got close enough to walk...
Downstairs, she left the innkeeper more money than her room cost, refusing to meet his eyes. Cold night air hit her face and stung her hand as she walked out. Visiting patients from yesterday happened in a blur -- surprised faces, wide eyes at being given free supplies, a million offers that blended together since she refused every one. Once she was walking toward the stations, her bag was far lighter, filled only with basic bandages and antiseptics.
Carriages were rare in the night, but Kader had no rush. She had the rest of her life to wait. Perhaps she would drift away from the world with the wind, no longer bothering anymore, and finally giving those ghosts their closure. She settled into one of the benches, a flickering gas lamp illuminating the world in fiery shades. The doctor stared down at the gash in her hand, surrounded and filled with clotted blood. She should bandage it; her thigh, too, still sticky.
But as she waited for the night carriage for arrive, Kader found that she did not have the energy.
Hilarious typos from this:
Judgingment
Deople
They kind of kill the mood, I think.
Anyway, for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
origfic_bingo, space "falling apart". Because when Kader starts to really go downhill, she basically shatters.
Thankfully, Tegre and Eilis are able to pull her out of the depression. While she's never quite better, she gets pretty close to her version of normal.
List of things to add to this so it's complete:
- Kader looking at a letter, hinting at where she is going
- "Blank" throughout the second half. Incorporate into the last sentence.
- Check that I didn't reuse too many metaphors, and clean up cliches
And now to try and relax before heading to bed.
Tschuess.
It all felt horribly wrong again.
She curled into a tighter ball in the corner of her tiny room -- all there to stare back was a bad, rickety set of dressers, and any unfortunate bird flying near the window. Yet, even with logic telling there were no people seeing her, she could feel them. They all stared at her, frowns on their vaporous faces, judgment burning into their starlight eyes. They at least had no more features beyond that -- if her dreams were any indication, they were missing half of their skin and muscle.
What did they want? For two years she had run from them, and for the past year she had tried to atone. She had traveled through the poor mountain towns, giving her services for free, sending her savings into a neverending pit of despair and tears. She had barely any money to call her own, being paid in food, gratitude, and the occasional place to sleep. Yet every lost patient joined the disfigured in her dreams, staring.
And so now she hid in the corner, a razorblade near her foot, and blood congealed and sticky on her thigh. It had not helped. Because she could not feel the pain.
Tears burned in her eyes, but even they could not blur the clarity of those staring. She looked through her bed and the room, her gaze more dead than those of ghosts. She had healed, and cured, and refused any reward -- or was a bowl of porridge to live another day too much to take? Were three hours of sleep three too many? She grimaced and put her forehead on her knees.
The blade could give her that final punishment that the ghosts wanted, but she felt too tired to pick it back up again. Every breath was too much effort on a body that felt older than the earth.
You left them. Years-old thoughts, and yet they stayed painfully clear, bright in the darkness. You left them dying on the streets. You can't make up for that with a thousand lives.
Would they stare at her even once she died? She had figured dying meant nothing but blackness -- not even a trace of feeling. Perhaps that new uncertainty kept that blade away from her neck.
Great Mother, she just wanted to be free.
The slightest twinge hit her mind like a hot nerve; Kader jumped out of her ball, promptly falling up against the wall. Her hand landed on the razor and she dully felt it slice straight through the skin. At that moment, however, her greater concern was the hit. Most everyone knew what a telepath felt like, but this presence hadn't stayed. It smacked her mind, like a sharp knock on a door, then vanished. Scrambling to her feet, Kader looked frantically around the room.
Nothing. Absently grabbing her bleeding hand, the woman walked over to the window and looked outside. She didn't remember it becoming late evening; last she checked, it was afternoon. She was going to go out after lunch, treat some more patients, check up on those in recovery--
Did she have lunch? She didn't remember.
She leaned her forehead against the cool window, tears falling. The hours had flown from her; it was far too late to go out now. She would just be interrupting people, and she would cause more harm than good. Maybe those who were expecting her would be-- no, by now they were sighing, shaking their head, and saying that doctor, they knew she was a quack, no question about it, she was a woman--
Why couldn't you come sooner? The bitter thought exploded in her mind; she had no idea if the telepath was still there, and with gritted teeth turned from the window and sat on the bed.
Wasn't aware I was supposed to.
She nearly fell off the bed, instead getting bloodstains on it from catching herself. She winced, more from guilt than pain. Sorry. It's not your fault.
Are you okay? There was barely a question in the voice, and she could feel the concern flood her mind. The emotions were foreign in too many ways. I was asked to check you were alive by an old friend.
An old-- And then it hit her like a bullet, straight through her heart. Tegre?
That's the one. Should I tell hi--
No! Not Tegre; but of course it was. She had the letters he sent tucked at the bottom of her bag, so when she used up her supplies helping people, then she could read them. It had never happened, however; she would need to refill items for patients, or encounter slow moments, and thus the bottom never materialized. The letters were forgotten, just more useless paper close to her.
He would be so disappointed in her. She was supposed to improve, be better, be perfect. Instead she was seeing dead people's judgment and panicking straight through a day. She wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks.
Please just inform him I'm alive. She began shoving items into her travel bag -- the razorblade, a few stray clothes. I... Don't tell him about this. Please.
Heavy silence filled her mind, before the concerned voice returned. Okay. Please let me know if I can help. You're... You're blank.
Kader closed her eyes as the presence retreated; darkness greeted her, and the characteristic nothing. But now his words kept interrupting it: blank, blank, blank.
She swung both of her bags over her shoulder, counted out the paltry coins remaining. She would give her remaining supplies to the people in this town. She could sell the bag for decent amount in the city over. She had enough for a carriage. If she kept a few supplies, she could make money treating people on the trains, until she got close enough to walk...
Downstairs, she left the innkeeper more money than her room cost, refusing to meet his eyes. Cold night air hit her face and stung her hand as she walked out. Visiting patients from yesterday happened in a blur -- surprised faces, wide eyes at being given free supplies, a million offers that blended together since she refused every one. Once she was walking toward the stations, her bag was far lighter, filled only with basic bandages and antiseptics.
Carriages were rare in the night, but Kader had no rush. She had the rest of her life to wait. Perhaps she would drift away from the world with the wind, no longer bothering anymore, and finally giving those ghosts their closure. She settled into one of the benches, a flickering gas lamp illuminating the world in fiery shades. The doctor stared down at the gash in her hand, surrounded and filled with clotted blood. She should bandage it; her thigh, too, still sticky.
But as she waited for the night carriage for arrive, Kader found that she did not have the energy.
Hilarious typos from this:
Judgingment
Deople
They kind of kill the mood, I think.
Anyway, for
origfic_bingo, space "falling apart". Because when Kader starts to really go downhill, she basically shatters.Thankfully, Tegre and Eilis are able to pull her out of the depression. While she's never quite better, she gets pretty close to her version of normal.
List of things to add to this so it's complete:
- Kader looking at a letter, hinting at where she is going
- "Blank" throughout the second half. Incorporate into the last sentence.
- Check that I didn't reuse too many metaphors, and clean up cliches
And now to try and relax before heading to bed.
Tschuess.
