(no subject)
It's very cold here.
It takes Valerie a while to figure out why she's shivering. The orange prisoner's shift is thin, and short, and hardly provides any protection from the elements, or from anything else.
She wraps her arms around herself and takes a step forward, bare feet quiet against the hospital floor. She leaves footprints in the dust. A breeze, cutting and cold, hits the back of her neck.
That's why she's shivering, she thinks. Her hair is gone. Again.
It's hard to breathe in here. Smoke and dust intermingle and get in her eyes and her lungs.
I'm very pleased with how the tests are going.
Valerie's head comes up, looking for the source of the voice.
Nothing.
She keeps walking.
Room IV. That's right.
She whirls, breath coming faster, harder. She starts to call out
(whoever you are)
but the stale air catches in her throat. She coughs; it echoes.
Did you hear that?
Eyes wide, she puts her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the cough. She almost has her breath under control when
You!
a hand claps onto her shoulder and spins her around, and she's looking up into a horribly burned, scarred face, framed by the collar of a military uniform.
What are you doing out?
I-I--
What's your name? He shakes her. Your name!
No -- No, this isn't real--
He sneers, and backhands her. Her head snaps to the side, and she tastes blood on her lip.
Is that real enough for you, dyke?
She gasps for breath, and she's shaking, and the floor is shaking, and when he pulls her forward she can't resist. He marches her down the hall, past other (prisoners) patients, burnt and scarred and empty-eyed.
Around a corner, now, and down a hall. At the end is a white-coated, masked doctor. The doctor's hair has been burnt away; it's impossible to tell the gender. Two guards, also masked, stand on either side. As the soldier drags Valerie closer, one of the guards pulls the baton from his belt and snaps it to its full length.
The doctor is holding a syringe.
Valerie's stomach clenches, and she tries to turn away, break free from the soldier's grip. He snarls and pulls her back around.
And the doctor at the end of the hall isn't alone, anymore. The needle is coming down to bear on the arm of a blonde woman, who looks up at Valerie, terrified.
Ruth?
The needle enters her arm, and Ruth's eyes rolls back as sores open on her hands and face (her beautiful, beautiful face, all the beauty in the world marred and destroyed).
Valerie screams.
She wakes up shivering.
When she finally pushes herself to a sitting position, she feels her lip stinging. Frowning, she lifts a hand to her mouth and winces. Her fingers come away bloody.
Her heart is suddenly banging in her ears.
She must have flailed around in the nightmare, she tells herself. Hit herself in the mouth. It could have happened -- that nightmare -- that nightmare was--
Ruth.
And then the tears come, all of a sudden, hot and salty and stinging in the cut on her lip, and she curls up into herself and sobs.
It takes Valerie a while to figure out why she's shivering. The orange prisoner's shift is thin, and short, and hardly provides any protection from the elements, or from anything else.
She wraps her arms around herself and takes a step forward, bare feet quiet against the hospital floor. She leaves footprints in the dust. A breeze, cutting and cold, hits the back of her neck.
That's why she's shivering, she thinks. Her hair is gone. Again.
It's hard to breathe in here. Smoke and dust intermingle and get in her eyes and her lungs.
I'm very pleased with how the tests are going.
Valerie's head comes up, looking for the source of the voice.
Nothing.
She keeps walking.
Room IV. That's right.
She whirls, breath coming faster, harder. She starts to call out
(whoever you are)
but the stale air catches in her throat. She coughs; it echoes.
Did you hear that?
Eyes wide, she puts her hand over her mouth, trying to muffle the cough. She almost has her breath under control when
You!
a hand claps onto her shoulder and spins her around, and she's looking up into a horribly burned, scarred face, framed by the collar of a military uniform.
What are you doing out?
I-I--
What's your name? He shakes her. Your name!
No -- No, this isn't real--
He sneers, and backhands her. Her head snaps to the side, and she tastes blood on her lip.
Is that real enough for you, dyke?
She gasps for breath, and she's shaking, and the floor is shaking, and when he pulls her forward she can't resist. He marches her down the hall, past other (prisoners) patients, burnt and scarred and empty-eyed.
Around a corner, now, and down a hall. At the end is a white-coated, masked doctor. The doctor's hair has been burnt away; it's impossible to tell the gender. Two guards, also masked, stand on either side. As the soldier drags Valerie closer, one of the guards pulls the baton from his belt and snaps it to its full length.
The doctor is holding a syringe.
Valerie's stomach clenches, and she tries to turn away, break free from the soldier's grip. He snarls and pulls her back around.
And the doctor at the end of the hall isn't alone, anymore. The needle is coming down to bear on the arm of a blonde woman, who looks up at Valerie, terrified.
Ruth?
The needle enters her arm, and Ruth's eyes rolls back as sores open on her hands and face (her beautiful, beautiful face, all the beauty in the world marred and destroyed).
Valerie screams.
She wakes up shivering.
When she finally pushes herself to a sitting position, she feels her lip stinging. Frowning, she lifts a hand to her mouth and winces. Her fingers come away bloody.
Her heart is suddenly banging in her ears.
She must have flailed around in the nightmare, she tells herself. Hit herself in the mouth. It could have happened -- that nightmare -- that nightmare was--
Ruth.
And then the tears come, all of a sudden, hot and salty and stinging in the cut on her lip, and she curls up into herself and sobs.