His office is white, so white. Everything is white like death.
She sticks out her tongue, widens her eyes, stands up to touch her toes, sits down to kick her knees, and breathes in and out.
The doctor says her name, her full name, not the nickname she goes by in this country, and that she is sick. He says the name of the disease and explains, “Your extreme fatigue is because your bones are slowly turning to gold. As gold, your bones are becoming denser and heavier making it more difficult for you to move your body. Therefore, I recommend against swimming—the weight will only cause you to drown.”
This explains everything. Her difficulty breathing is because the gold is pressing down on her lungs and other internal organs.
“Precisely,” the doctor says, “and there are other symptoms, too…”
She is glad. She knows that regardless of what she thinks or feels, no one will believe you are sick or in pain unless a doctor on high waives his scepter and decrees it so, but now that she has a diagnosis, she will be believed.
She also knows that--to others--a diagnosis without a cure is worthless.
She is near her grandparent’s house. She is in the woods, passing under tall trees that tangle overhead like netting, ready to ensnare her. But she will not be caught. She is the one on the hunt, following tracks in the dirt. They are deer tracks from one of the tiny, spotted deer that live in these woods.
She is so close, so close to the cure, but not there yet.
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Re: Eya and Ada (3)
Date: 2021-03-29 06:45 pm (UTC)His office is white, so white. Everything is white like death.
She sticks out her tongue, widens her eyes, stands up to touch her toes, sits down to kick her knees, and breathes in and out.
The doctor says her name, her full name, not the nickname she goes by in this country, and that she is sick. He says the name of the disease and explains, “Your extreme fatigue is because your bones are slowly turning to gold. As gold, your bones are becoming denser and heavier making it more difficult for you to move your body. Therefore, I recommend against swimming—the weight will only cause you to drown.”
This explains everything. Her difficulty breathing is because the gold is pressing down on her lungs and other internal organs.
“Precisely,” the doctor says, “and there are other symptoms, too…”
She is glad. She knows that regardless of what she thinks or feels, no one will believe you are sick or in pain unless a doctor on high waives his scepter and decrees it so, but now that she has a diagnosis, she will be believed.
She also knows that--to others--a diagnosis without a cure is worthless.
She is near her grandparent’s house. She is in the woods, passing under tall trees that tangle overhead like netting, ready to ensnare her. But she will not be caught. She is the one on the hunt, following tracks in the dirt. They are deer tracks from one of the tiny, spotted deer that live in these woods.
She is so close, so close to the cure, but not there yet.
Oh, if only she wasn’t alone.
If only.
She is so close.
She wakes up.