(no subject)
Ruth had settled into a bit of routine.
After just over three months on the island, she'd become... comfortable. She had her little house, and she had her kitchen, and she had a small and very diverse group whom she called her friends. A new life, and a whole heap of guilt that came along with it. She'd left her family, her little girl and her two boys, and she'd settled. How on Earth could she have done that? Adandoned her home when she was needed most? No, it wasn't by choice, but it was her fault that she was so... content with the change. Over the last three months, she felt freer and more relaxed than she had in years. She'd betrayed them. All of them.
Ruth was a horrible mother.
She had a responsibility to the kitchen that night, even though she didn't feel much like cooking for an island full of strangers at the moment. But her personal problems would just have to wait. Or maybe they didn't have to be problems at all. She would fry the fish, and slice the cucumbers and roast the tomatoes and dice the potatoes and she would not think about herself. All that kind of thought ever did for anyone was give them an ulcer, and she was not going to turn into a selfish little complainer.
She would be happy, even if it killed her.
[Tag Ruth, tag each other. She's a little wound up, but that's nothing new. Have some fried fish and potatoes, cucumber and tomato salad, and a honey-glazed fruit salad for dessert.]
After just over three months on the island, she'd become... comfortable. She had her little house, and she had her kitchen, and she had a small and very diverse group whom she called her friends. A new life, and a whole heap of guilt that came along with it. She'd left her family, her little girl and her two boys, and she'd settled. How on Earth could she have done that? Adandoned her home when she was needed most? No, it wasn't by choice, but it was her fault that she was so... content with the change. Over the last three months, she felt freer and more relaxed than she had in years. She'd betrayed them. All of them.
Ruth was a horrible mother.
She had a responsibility to the kitchen that night, even though she didn't feel much like cooking for an island full of strangers at the moment. But her personal problems would just have to wait. Or maybe they didn't have to be problems at all. She would fry the fish, and slice the cucumbers and roast the tomatoes and dice the potatoes and she would not think about herself. All that kind of thought ever did for anyone was give them an ulcer, and she was not going to turn into a selfish little complainer.
She would be happy, even if it killed her.
[Tag Ruth, tag each other. She's a little wound up, but that's nothing new. Have some fried fish and potatoes, cucumber and tomato salad, and a honey-glazed fruit salad for dessert.]