realmof_themuse April; 2009.17.3.E
Talk about a great battle that you fought.
It was supposed to be easier, writing about it. Putting words onto paper was supposed to give a person the means of coping with confusion and loss and other things that were hard to face on their own. If you wrote it down then you were putting it out there, giving someone else the chance to take on the weight if you so chose to pass it on, to give them the means to help you. Most people, really, were inherently good, in spite of what the rest of the world was saying to try and prove otherwise. Most people really were good, wanted to do something nice for others, try and help even when it was scary to do so.
And if someone helped then the nightmares would stop, maybe, and then there might be less of a chance to panic when something moved in the darkness or the shadows, or when a high pitched buzzing sounded just a little too close to the mark, so close that Rose would feel her heart skip a beat and freeze with worried panic, wondering if it was the end yet again, if there was any chance or hope she might be wrong.
But writing it down hadn't helped. The nightmares didn't lessen and nothing changed, her life didn't become easier. In time, she threw the book she'd written everything down on into the fireplace when her mother was tending to the baby and her father was preoccupied on the phone. They had been the ones who asked her to try and move past what she'd seen and she knew it was because they cared, but she didn't want the book with her lines of scripted writing in it anywhere that someone else could find. If that was the risk she had to take then she didn't want to, she'd just take it on herself.
No one else, after all, needed to have those nightmares in their head.
Muse: Rose Tyler
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 326