Creative Writing- The Doctor's Wife
@Theta: As I said, this is very much a first draft, but you seemed quite eager to see some of this, so I decided to show you a small part of it~
The room was dark, the light from the evening long abandoning me as my fingers moved at a shadowed blur, impatient as I write my findings of the week. The warming glow of lamplight my only sign of solace in my ever-darkening musings, the sounds of the typewriter before me crashed in my ears as I mentally recited my findings, my words no longer bringing me comfort as they coursed to my fingers, the keys under my fingertips jeering me, their laughter metallic as I urged them to emboss my notes onto the page, to urge them to do their job. The clock behind me keeping the time, every tick slicing through the cloying atmosphere, its uniformed tock adding a morbid march to my combined chorus of the device in front of me, adding a path through the clatter.
"Monday the 26th of March. The patients passing seizures are becoming more pronounced by the day. The underlying cause seems to be a slow and depressive decay. If I don't find a cure I fear that my patient will surely fade away, but I swear- I'll apply my science to the cause, brooking no defiance. I'll deliver her from this malady. She will dance again."
My thoughts drifted, to those balmy days before she was confined to her bed, the body once so beautiful now a cloyed, clammy shell, fine locks of hair once full of life hung limply, framing the windows of this still-beautiful prison. She was calm now- her fitting had ceased with her dreamless slumber it seemed, for now. My only comfort in all this was she could still speak to me, my sweet beloved- her words the melodic shrill I needed to carry myself through my days, to see the others, those ignorant fools, oblivious of true suffering as I sat by their bedsides, talking of ailments scarcely to believed. She believed in me, my beloved, she believed in my abilities, in sciences newest forms of fascination... I would prove to her her pain was not in vain, that her belief meant more to me than the weight it put upon my shoulders. It cripples me, but for the successful results I would achieve soon it was a burden I would bear a thousand times over.
She was so beautiful, even now. Her body, as frail and as weak as it was, still held that divine grace I had seen then, what seemed to me now to be so many years ago. She slept, bathed in moonlight, just as she had on our wedding day, her skin a mirror for the Lady Luna's rays, her eyes brighter than any of those stars that laced the sky above us. I still remember her voice, like a trickle of silk softly coursing the shell of my ear.
"Don't let me go, my darling... Hold me safely 'til the morning... Promise, when the lights are fading... You'll save me."
I would save her, the crystalline soul held in these confines of pallor flesh and plain cotton. My hold is soft as I steal a kiss from her, though through the risk of contamination our affection was cut short by my covering her lips with my fingers, feeling the hope and optimism seep away from that token of my resolve as it filtered though boiled cotton and cartilage. I have longed and still long for that moment when I am able to kiss those lips rosy once more, rather than watching her fall ever further to decay.
My resolve is strong, and I only hoped it was the same for her...
The room was dark, the light from the evening long abandoning me as my fingers moved at a shadowed blur, impatient as I write my findings of the week. The warming glow of lamplight my only sign of solace in my ever-darkening musings, the sounds of the typewriter before me crashed in my ears as I mentally recited my findings, my words no longer bringing me comfort as they coursed to my fingers, the keys under my fingertips jeering me, their laughter metallic as I urged them to emboss my notes onto the page, to urge them to do their job. The clock behind me keeping the time, every tick slicing through the cloying atmosphere, its uniformed tock adding a morbid march to my combined chorus of the device in front of me, adding a path through the clatter.
"Monday the 26th of March. The patients passing seizures are becoming more pronounced by the day. The underlying cause seems to be a slow and depressive decay. If I don't find a cure I fear that my patient will surely fade away, but I swear- I'll apply my science to the cause, brooking no defiance. I'll deliver her from this malady. She will dance again."
My thoughts drifted, to those balmy days before she was confined to her bed, the body once so beautiful now a cloyed, clammy shell, fine locks of hair once full of life hung limply, framing the windows of this still-beautiful prison. She was calm now- her fitting had ceased with her dreamless slumber it seemed, for now. My only comfort in all this was she could still speak to me, my sweet beloved- her words the melodic shrill I needed to carry myself through my days, to see the others, those ignorant fools, oblivious of true suffering as I sat by their bedsides, talking of ailments scarcely to believed. She believed in me, my beloved, she believed in my abilities, in sciences newest forms of fascination... I would prove to her her pain was not in vain, that her belief meant more to me than the weight it put upon my shoulders. It cripples me, but for the successful results I would achieve soon it was a burden I would bear a thousand times over.
She was so beautiful, even now. Her body, as frail and as weak as it was, still held that divine grace I had seen then, what seemed to me now to be so many years ago. She slept, bathed in moonlight, just as she had on our wedding day, her skin a mirror for the Lady Luna's rays, her eyes brighter than any of those stars that laced the sky above us. I still remember her voice, like a trickle of silk softly coursing the shell of my ear.
"Don't let me go, my darling... Hold me safely 'til the morning... Promise, when the lights are fading... You'll save me."
I would save her, the crystalline soul held in these confines of pallor flesh and plain cotton. My hold is soft as I steal a kiss from her, though through the risk of contamination our affection was cut short by my covering her lips with my fingers, feeling the hope and optimism seep away from that token of my resolve as it filtered though boiled cotton and cartilage. I have longed and still long for that moment when I am able to kiss those lips rosy once more, rather than watching her fall ever further to decay.
My resolve is strong, and I only hoped it was the same for her...