(no subject)
Her Quilt
Fandom: The West Wing
Persons: C.J. Cregg
Rating: pea.gee
Prompt: daily15 - Irregular
~
It's a build up of irregular cells, you think, that's what cancer starts out as. You wonder if it hurts. Of course it does and that's when you think your mom is faking it. She must be doing this for attention, or as a bad joke. It's making you cry knowing that you think these things to feel relief. Maybe you have a build up of irregular cells; maybe you are the one that has cancer because it hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to do anything. She smiles at you through treatment and she does it to make you feel better and to make you feel safe. You're young but not that young and it doesn't work. She is going to die and you can't do anything. When you realize you can't stop her pain (or yours for that matter) you take comfort in the quilt she made you and you never leave your bed.
You cry all day when she passes and you don't let anyone or anything touch you except the quilt. It smells like her and it smells like happiness.
You never hear your dad cry nor your older brothers. They do it behind doors. You think it's disrespectful, so you sob openly and you hold the home threaded blanket close and sometimes to tight.
~
It's years later and you still have the blanket but it's stashed under your bed in the apartment you're never in. It doesn't bring you comfort any more, just pain. The same irregular pain you felt when your mom first developed too many irregular cells.
[end]
Fandom: The West Wing
Persons: C.J. Cregg
Rating: pea.gee
Prompt: daily15 - Irregular
~
It's a build up of irregular cells, you think, that's what cancer starts out as. You wonder if it hurts. Of course it does and that's when you think your mom is faking it. She must be doing this for attention, or as a bad joke. It's making you cry knowing that you think these things to feel relief. Maybe you have a build up of irregular cells; maybe you are the one that has cancer because it hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to do anything. She smiles at you through treatment and she does it to make you feel better and to make you feel safe. You're young but not that young and it doesn't work. She is going to die and you can't do anything. When you realize you can't stop her pain (or yours for that matter) you take comfort in the quilt she made you and you never leave your bed.
You cry all day when she passes and you don't let anyone or anything touch you except the quilt. It smells like her and it smells like happiness.
You never hear your dad cry nor your older brothers. They do it behind doors. You think it's disrespectful, so you sob openly and you hold the home threaded blanket close and sometimes to tight.
~
It's years later and you still have the blanket but it's stashed under your bed in the apartment you're never in. It doesn't bring you comfort any more, just pain. The same irregular pain you felt when your mom first developed too many irregular cells.
[end]