173rd Strike
[Doris' Mother Dying]
A small girl, maybe 11 or 12 years old, padded down the hall to the bedroom door, clutching her stuffed dog to her chest as she peeked in. Her father and Doctor Ferringo stood close to the head of the bed. She couldn’t see them from where she was-but she could see her mother’s covered feet on the foot of the bed.
Rattling. What was that rattling sound?
“It’s no good, John,” she heard Doctor Ferringo’s voice trail out of the room.
“Don’t tell me that Sam. There has to be something else…”
“She’s not going to make it through the night…”
Doris jumped but held back a yelp as the nightstand went flying across the room and crashed into the wall, sending her mother’s trinkets flying about and shattering the small bedside lamp.
“DON’T TELL ME THAT, SAM! THERE’S GOTTA BE SOMETHING-”
“JOHN!!!” Doctor Ferringo shouted back. “There’s nothing more I can do. Get Doris and Dan in here so they can say goodbye.”
Doris clutched the stuffed dog tighter, tears welling in her eyes. She heard a thump as her father fell to the ground and whimpered as she heard his voice crack. She had never seen or heard her father cry before.
She scuffled back against the wall as she heard footsteps approach. The doctor’s form filled the doorway, his kind weary eyes falling on her. Without a word his wrinkled hands fell on her shoulders and led her into the room to stand on the opposite side of her mother’s death bed.
“Mama?” she whispered. The woman lay as though she were merely sleeping. But her skin was a palor gray, her cheeks and eyes slightly sunken from the illness. “Mama?” she asked a little louder.
She was answered by rattling.
[ Being attacked and turned by Drake in the City]
...
[ooc; first one is recycled from the Plague curse, but since no one actually *saw* it I thought what the hell. Of course, internal dialogue in either memory will not be heard.]
A small girl, maybe 11 or 12 years old, padded down the hall to the bedroom door, clutching her stuffed dog to her chest as she peeked in. Her father and Doctor Ferringo stood close to the head of the bed. She couldn’t see them from where she was-but she could see her mother’s covered feet on the foot of the bed.
Rattling. What was that rattling sound?
“It’s no good, John,” she heard Doctor Ferringo’s voice trail out of the room.
“Don’t tell me that Sam. There has to be something else…”
“She’s not going to make it through the night…”
Doris jumped but held back a yelp as the nightstand went flying across the room and crashed into the wall, sending her mother’s trinkets flying about and shattering the small bedside lamp.
“DON’T TELL ME THAT, SAM! THERE’S GOTTA BE SOMETHING-”
“JOHN!!!” Doctor Ferringo shouted back. “There’s nothing more I can do. Get Doris and Dan in here so they can say goodbye.”
Doris clutched the stuffed dog tighter, tears welling in her eyes. She heard a thump as her father fell to the ground and whimpered as she heard his voice crack. She had never seen or heard her father cry before.
She scuffled back against the wall as she heard footsteps approach. The doctor’s form filled the doorway, his kind weary eyes falling on her. Without a word his wrinkled hands fell on her shoulders and led her into the room to stand on the opposite side of her mother’s death bed.
“Mama?” she whispered. The woman lay as though she were merely sleeping. But her skin was a palor gray, her cheeks and eyes slightly sunken from the illness. “Mama?” she asked a little louder.
She was answered by rattling.
[ Being attacked and turned by Drake in the City]
...
[ooc; first one is recycled from the Plague curse, but since no one actually *saw* it I thought what the hell. Of course, internal dialogue in either memory will not be heard.]