(no subject)
It's three in the morning when Susannah awakes, frantic and sobbing in her empty bed.
"I would never. Never. Never ever." She's almost shaking with emotion, yet the content of the dream is rapidly vanishing. Something about Eddie coming home for Christmas. Eddie come home, and the wings of his damned little plane icing up. And then somehow they'd been in the plane, all of them together and others besides, packed impossibly into the tin can of a plane, and not enough parachutes to go around.
(It is all right. I heal. And Kaylee's face, the baby in her arms--)
The details are blurring. She'd landed in the park--or had that been some other dream, or another phase?--and Rose had been there. There had been two of her, she thought, and some kind of terrible choice--
(The first one should've taught her.)
Some kind of weapon in her hands, heavy and round and pulsing with terrible hungry life, and a choice between Rose and Rose.
(I would never.)
And again and again, the image that has haunted her since she was thirty years old, the bowl of blood. She shivers, almost convulses; she's not sure she isn't going to vomit.
She doesn't.
And in time she sleeps again, and in the morning she doesn't remember waking.
"I would never. Never. Never ever." She's almost shaking with emotion, yet the content of the dream is rapidly vanishing. Something about Eddie coming home for Christmas. Eddie come home, and the wings of his damned little plane icing up. And then somehow they'd been in the plane, all of them together and others besides, packed impossibly into the tin can of a plane, and not enough parachutes to go around.
(It is all right. I heal. And Kaylee's face, the baby in her arms--)
The details are blurring. She'd landed in the park--or had that been some other dream, or another phase?--and Rose had been there. There had been two of her, she thought, and some kind of terrible choice--
(The first one should've taught her.)
Some kind of weapon in her hands, heavy and round and pulsing with terrible hungry life, and a choice between Rose and Rose.
(I would never.)
And again and again, the image that has haunted her since she was thirty years old, the bowl of blood. She shivers, almost convulses; she's not sure she isn't going to vomit.
She doesn't.
And in time she sleeps again, and in the morning she doesn't remember waking.