Ficlet: It Only Hurts When I Breathe
Mar. 23rd, 2010 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: It Only Hurts When I Breathe
Fandom/original: original
Rating: PG
A/N: Unprompted ficlet that I've been playing with for a day or two. Pretty much how it happened.
“Made a decision, then,” Stella snapped, as the other woman stepped into the room. “More guilt but less uncertainty. Good. Uncertainty tastes like vomit, did you know that?”
She moved to her desk, touching her notebook lightly. Her voice softened a little. “It’s interesting. I think I may have a sort of… empathetic synæsthesia. I doubt it’s totally unique, but it’s certainly rare.” She slipped an envelope out and laid it neatly on top of the leather-bound volume.
Turning back, Stella continued. “I left a letter that should, hopefully, keep my future self from asking too many questions, at least at first. But then, I imagine you’ll have thought of a decent cover story. Ah – ” She raised one hand. “Got it, got it in one, brilliant.” Her voice was still clipped, a touch more rapid than it should be.
“Nicolas was here, so I suppose we’ve said what we have to say. Lord knows he makes me even less stable than I…” She trailed. Her fingers traced the table’s edge. “…I… he’ll take it badly. Me going to Souragne. But it’s too good an opportunity to pass up, and he certainly can’t expect me to just sit here admiring fine parties for the rest of my life. Especially as long a life as he and I are likely to have.”
Stella looked up again, this time with a sly little smile. Her loose hair slid over her shoulder as she leaned forward. “But we’ll be leaving the country soon. Not forever, of course – wouldn’t leave the work, neither of us. But Marcus thinks we might be able to win some allies abroad. Tried to talk me out of coming, but… but…”
She frowned straightening, and shook her head again as if trying to clear it. With a soft groan, she murmured, “Across the sea. It's... it's like being at sea… sea made of flavors and… and…” She exhaled, giving herself a little shake. “No. Focus. Clarity can be maintained with an effort of will,” she repeated, as if it were a mantra.
The room had gotten a bit dimmer.
Stella looked directly at her visitor. “I don’t deserve another chance anyway, do I? Honestly. What sort of woman passes on a chance to bring her child back to life? That’s what all this…” She gestured at her notes, at the bare remains of her lab equipment. There were no tears on her cheeks - Stella's grief was dry and hot, now.
“And at the end, I said bloody no.” She looked down, with an empty, shaking laugh that had the edge of hysteria to it. Her palms pressed flat against the desk. “All I had to do was…”
She looked up, hands pressing so hard her nails were turning white. “Bloody get it over with already.”
And then she crumpled to the floor.
Fandom/original: original
Rating: PG
A/N: Unprompted ficlet that I've been playing with for a day or two. Pretty much how it happened.
“Made a decision, then,” Stella snapped, as the other woman stepped into the room. “More guilt but less uncertainty. Good. Uncertainty tastes like vomit, did you know that?”
She moved to her desk, touching her notebook lightly. Her voice softened a little. “It’s interesting. I think I may have a sort of… empathetic synæsthesia. I doubt it’s totally unique, but it’s certainly rare.” She slipped an envelope out and laid it neatly on top of the leather-bound volume.
Turning back, Stella continued. “I left a letter that should, hopefully, keep my future self from asking too many questions, at least at first. But then, I imagine you’ll have thought of a decent cover story. Ah – ” She raised one hand. “Got it, got it in one, brilliant.” Her voice was still clipped, a touch more rapid than it should be.
“Nicolas was here, so I suppose we’ve said what we have to say. Lord knows he makes me even less stable than I…” She trailed. Her fingers traced the table’s edge. “…I… he’ll take it badly. Me going to Souragne. But it’s too good an opportunity to pass up, and he certainly can’t expect me to just sit here admiring fine parties for the rest of my life. Especially as long a life as he and I are likely to have.”
Stella looked up again, this time with a sly little smile. Her loose hair slid over her shoulder as she leaned forward. “But we’ll be leaving the country soon. Not forever, of course – wouldn’t leave the work, neither of us. But Marcus thinks we might be able to win some allies abroad. Tried to talk me out of coming, but… but…”
She frowned straightening, and shook her head again as if trying to clear it. With a soft groan, she murmured, “Across the sea. It's... it's like being at sea… sea made of flavors and… and…” She exhaled, giving herself a little shake. “No. Focus. Clarity can be maintained with an effort of will,” she repeated, as if it were a mantra.
The room had gotten a bit dimmer.
Stella looked directly at her visitor. “I don’t deserve another chance anyway, do I? Honestly. What sort of woman passes on a chance to bring her child back to life? That’s what all this…” She gestured at her notes, at the bare remains of her lab equipment. There were no tears on her cheeks - Stella's grief was dry and hot, now.
“And at the end, I said bloody no.” She looked down, with an empty, shaking laugh that had the edge of hysteria to it. Her palms pressed flat against the desk. “All I had to do was…”
She looked up, hands pressing so hard her nails were turning white. “Bloody get it over with already.”
And then she crumpled to the floor.
