(no subject)
depression very high right now. smothered in a blanket of lead and ice.
sorry i haven't kept up with reading / commenting -- i love you guys, i just am sucky friend right now.
...sorry.
otoh, I managed to actually write -- not much, just a snippet, because Arrival is burrowing into my brain -- spoilers herein:
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Grief is no different when you know what's coming.
[...]
And Ian, staring at her with wide betrayed eyes and a white face when she tells him.
"I thought you should know," she adds. Her stomach is knotted, because she know how this talk ends. Doesn't want to do it, but she's already done it.
"God, Laura," he says hoarsely, and scrubs his face with his hands. "How long have you known?"
She wants to lie to him. After all, it's still in the future yet -- from the usual human perspective of time, Hannah is still alive, vibrant and creative and brimming with curiosity; she hasn't yet gotten sick, suffered and withered and died.
Except she has.
This is how it will be because this is how it always has been. Because Hannah was crucial to solving the mystery of the hexapods, even if she hadn't been born yet, and the price of life is death.
Laura can't find words, and Ian grows still as he realises the truth. "You've always known, haven't you," he says flatly. His expression hardens. "Even before -- when we hadn't -- when I asked you--"
He chokes on the words, but Laura remembers sitting with him, remembers kissing him the first time, remembers him asking her if she wanted to make a baby. And she, even remembering Hannah's long dying process, said yes.
"You *knew*," he repeats. There's anger creeping into his voice now. "Jesus fuck, Laura. You're inhuman."
She gives a shaky attempt at a smile. "I had -- dreams, memories, hallucinations, I didn't even know at the time who she was. And yes I knew she would die. I chose life, Ian. I chose to know her for a short while rather than not at all. "
"You chose wrong," he says, and turns on his heel to walk away, fists clenched, radiating grief and fury and hurt, the way he always would have.
Seeing the future -- breaking the flow of time -- isn't a blessing. It's a curse. Because she has to do the things that she's already done.
Like watch her husband walk away.
Like watch her daughter die.
.
.
.
.
.
-- which i'm pretty sure is the most writing i've done all year. woo?
Cross-posted between DW (here) and LJ. Comments welcome in either place; DW has
comments
sorry i haven't kept up with reading / commenting -- i love you guys, i just am sucky friend right now.
...sorry.
otoh, I managed to actually write -- not much, just a snippet, because Arrival is burrowing into my brain -- spoilers herein:
.
.
.
.
.
Grief is no different when you know what's coming.
[...]
And Ian, staring at her with wide betrayed eyes and a white face when she tells him.
"I thought you should know," she adds. Her stomach is knotted, because she know how this talk ends. Doesn't want to do it, but she's already done it.
"God, Laura," he says hoarsely, and scrubs his face with his hands. "How long have you known?"
She wants to lie to him. After all, it's still in the future yet -- from the usual human perspective of time, Hannah is still alive, vibrant and creative and brimming with curiosity; she hasn't yet gotten sick, suffered and withered and died.
Except she has.
This is how it will be because this is how it always has been. Because Hannah was crucial to solving the mystery of the hexapods, even if she hadn't been born yet, and the price of life is death.
Laura can't find words, and Ian grows still as he realises the truth. "You've always known, haven't you," he says flatly. His expression hardens. "Even before -- when we hadn't -- when I asked you--"
He chokes on the words, but Laura remembers sitting with him, remembers kissing him the first time, remembers him asking her if she wanted to make a baby. And she, even remembering Hannah's long dying process, said yes.
"You *knew*," he repeats. There's anger creeping into his voice now. "Jesus fuck, Laura. You're inhuman."
She gives a shaky attempt at a smile. "I had -- dreams, memories, hallucinations, I didn't even know at the time who she was. And yes I knew she would die. I chose life, Ian. I chose to know her for a short while rather than not at all. "
"You chose wrong," he says, and turns on his heel to walk away, fists clenched, radiating grief and fury and hurt, the way he always would have.
Seeing the future -- breaking the flow of time -- isn't a blessing. It's a curse. Because she has to do the things that she's already done.
Like watch her husband walk away.
Like watch her daughter die.
.
.
.
.
.
-- which i'm pretty sure is the most writing i've done all year. woo?
Cross-posted between DW (here) and LJ. Comments welcome in either place; DW has
comments