Post by spastic bard on Apr 10, 2010 23:36:22 GMT -5
((The title is from a wonderful song that actually has nothing to do with this drabble. I was listening to it on repeat while writing it though because somehow it inspired this. Oops? Also, I blame Kevin because he made me realize I haven't been able to use Mauri's voice in awhile. This may not be the most Mauri-like, but still covers an important event and is an important part of her... Or something profound like that... Blah blah blah new D&D group's timeline has inspired me, so there.))
Time has no meaning to the dead.
Covered in bandages and blankets, an unnaturally pale woman starred at the ceiling above her, still and silent as the small bedroom. The cot on which she lay was a little too short for her long frame, but the piles of blankets made up for the inconvenience. Comfortable and surprisingly clean, the woman knew she should be thankful and gracious to the people who had brought her here. A simple farm family had managed to pull her back from the brink of death with far more care and kindness than she deserved. Unfortunately no words left her lips – only a faint breath sounded in rhythm with her heart and the thoughts that silently repeated in her head. They should have left me to die.
She had no idea how much time had passed since then. Each day felt like an endless loop. An elderly woman tended to her injuries one minute, a small boy brought water and light broths the next. Repeat. Again. If it weren't for the shifting shadows and light along the walls she would have believed time had stopped altogether.
Every so often the older woman asked how she felt. She never answered. She didn't have an answer. Her senses told her everything should be hurting like hell. As someone who had danced with death a few times, this was by far the closest she had ever come to faltering. She did not need a healer to tell her how many bones were broken or how much blood she had lost. Yet she felt none of it. All the physical pain in the world could not compare to what she did feel.
Drifting into sleep and a state of barely-life, time started again as the she wished for death instead.
Time has no meaning to the dead.
Covered in bandages and blankets, an unnaturally pale woman starred at the ceiling above her, still and silent as the small bedroom. The cot on which she lay was a little too short for her long frame, but the piles of blankets made up for the inconvenience. Comfortable and surprisingly clean, the woman knew she should be thankful and gracious to the people who had brought her here. A simple farm family had managed to pull her back from the brink of death with far more care and kindness than she deserved. Unfortunately no words left her lips – only a faint breath sounded in rhythm with her heart and the thoughts that silently repeated in her head. They should have left me to die.
She had no idea how much time had passed since then. Each day felt like an endless loop. An elderly woman tended to her injuries one minute, a small boy brought water and light broths the next. Repeat. Again. If it weren't for the shifting shadows and light along the walls she would have believed time had stopped altogether.
Every so often the older woman asked how she felt. She never answered. She didn't have an answer. Her senses told her everything should be hurting like hell. As someone who had danced with death a few times, this was by far the closest she had ever come to faltering. She did not need a healer to tell her how many bones were broken or how much blood she had lost. Yet she felt none of it. All the physical pain in the world could not compare to what she did feel.
Drifting into sleep and a state of barely-life, time started again as the she wished for death instead.