(no subject)
Eden hasn't lost track of the specific spot where she first appeared on the island; she never knew where it was. At the time, reeling from her arrival, blood in her hair and, sometimes, eyes, head pounding and heart racing, the exact location was of approximately zero importance to her. She doesn't, for that matter, remember the stretch of beach where she first met Penny. Four years after the fact, these two places which still seem to matter most have left no mark at all in her memory. Sometimes she thinks it's one place, sometimes she thinks it's another; mostly, it doesn't matter so much.
A great deal pales in comparison to four years of cheating death.
It's incredibly rare a day goes by she doesn't think about that even a little, but she learned to think of it less for a while. These last few months - this last year, truth be told - it's been much harder. Even the things that make it simpler to ignore all the disappearances and the occasional sense of time ticking away really only add to the trouble. She doesn't need to keep a constant eye on Claire these days, but she still wants to, has to force herself to go about her usual business, attending classes and meetings (though she's diligent about the latter, when she's having trouble enough at times avoiding temptation with a support group), working at the Children's Office, talking to her remaining friends. Jason could have died last week easily and that eats at her, too, how simple it is here to get swallowed up by the past, how that could have happened to any number of people, strange deaths explained away as yet another of the vanishing acts that are essentially day to day occurrences.
The bad piles up and it makes it so easy to ignore the good, but here she is, four years to the day after she first wound up on this shore though she doesn't think it was this particular stretch thereof, and she has to do it. She has to push all that away, because she's here. God only knows how, but she is and she's wasted enough of her lives. Origami's curled up at her side, asleep if barely, a kitten no longer. She's surrounded by plays, things she's saved over the years for one reason or another, considering her options. She could try to put something on to keep herself and a handful of others busy, the way Daisy once suggested she do, or she could make a film. She isn't as good as Gideon, doesn't have his eye for these things; undoubtedly it'd be a piece of shit. But his things are in her house now and she doesn't want his cameras collecting dust, the way she feels she's been doing for a long time now.
The cat stirs, shifting fluidly to bat at the pages of one of the books, opened by a breeze. "Oh, now you're awake," Eden says. "You think I should do that one, then?"
[Backdated to the afternoon of the first. The day was busier than I thought it would be. x_x]
A great deal pales in comparison to four years of cheating death.
It's incredibly rare a day goes by she doesn't think about that even a little, but she learned to think of it less for a while. These last few months - this last year, truth be told - it's been much harder. Even the things that make it simpler to ignore all the disappearances and the occasional sense of time ticking away really only add to the trouble. She doesn't need to keep a constant eye on Claire these days, but she still wants to, has to force herself to go about her usual business, attending classes and meetings (though she's diligent about the latter, when she's having trouble enough at times avoiding temptation with a support group), working at the Children's Office, talking to her remaining friends. Jason could have died last week easily and that eats at her, too, how simple it is here to get swallowed up by the past, how that could have happened to any number of people, strange deaths explained away as yet another of the vanishing acts that are essentially day to day occurrences.
The bad piles up and it makes it so easy to ignore the good, but here she is, four years to the day after she first wound up on this shore though she doesn't think it was this particular stretch thereof, and she has to do it. She has to push all that away, because she's here. God only knows how, but she is and she's wasted enough of her lives. Origami's curled up at her side, asleep if barely, a kitten no longer. She's surrounded by plays, things she's saved over the years for one reason or another, considering her options. She could try to put something on to keep herself and a handful of others busy, the way Daisy once suggested she do, or she could make a film. She isn't as good as Gideon, doesn't have his eye for these things; undoubtedly it'd be a piece of shit. But his things are in her house now and she doesn't want his cameras collecting dust, the way she feels she's been doing for a long time now.
The cat stirs, shifting fluidly to bat at the pages of one of the books, opened by a breeze. "Oh, now you're awake," Eden says. "You think I should do that one, then?"
[Backdated to the afternoon of the first. The day was busier than I thought it would be. x_x]