04 ♦ [Open + dictated]
Jan. 16th, 2011 07:33 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
[Imagine if you will, a small wound, somewhere that is not easily seen on your body.
Now imagine that you can forget about this wound because it only hurts sometimes. It only hurts when you remember its existence. You are reminded when you see any blood from this wound. Perhaps there is a drop splattered into your morning tea, or a drip ruins a page of the book you’re reading, or when you remove your favorite shirt at the end of the day, there is a red spot soaked into it. Then you hurt, because then you remember about this wound that will not heal.
This is how Vanessa experiences her loss; as a drop of blood that mars the surface of her life.
She has had this aching suspicion that she has had something taken from her, but today is the confirmation that can no longer be brushed aside or doubted.]
Where is it? Where is it? [A pleading voice drifts over journals or maybe down the halls. A sound of scuffling through the pages or closed doors.] I put it…I put it…[Something is thrown, heavy from the sound of the bang against the wall.] I lost it! I must have…how…how….
[There is a silence for several seconds, and then this time, the journal gets thrown against the wall.]
Wretched place! Why can I not remember-?! It’s Fred, and Claude…and…and…my brother-! [A choked sob. She had written down the names because she has noticed the blood drops but now she can’t find the piece of paper she wrote them on.
It’s salt in the wound.]
AAHHHH! [Just a cry of frustration and pain. She has lost them once and now she is going to lose them over and over.]
Now imagine that you can forget about this wound because it only hurts sometimes. It only hurts when you remember its existence. You are reminded when you see any blood from this wound. Perhaps there is a drop splattered into your morning tea, or a drip ruins a page of the book you’re reading, or when you remove your favorite shirt at the end of the day, there is a red spot soaked into it. Then you hurt, because then you remember about this wound that will not heal.
This is how Vanessa experiences her loss; as a drop of blood that mars the surface of her life.
She has had this aching suspicion that she has had something taken from her, but today is the confirmation that can no longer be brushed aside or doubted.]
Where is it? Where is it? [A pleading voice drifts over journals or maybe down the halls. A sound of scuffling through the pages or closed doors.] I put it…I put it…[Something is thrown, heavy from the sound of the bang against the wall.] I lost it! I must have…how…how….
[There is a silence for several seconds, and then this time, the journal gets thrown against the wall.]
Wretched place! Why can I not remember-?! It’s Fred, and Claude…and…and…my brother-! [A choked sob. She had written down the names because she has noticed the blood drops but now she can’t find the piece of paper she wrote them on.
It’s salt in the wound.]
AAHHHH! [Just a cry of frustration and pain. She has lost them once and now she is going to lose them over and over.]