"Yeah." That word cracks too, embarrassingly. He looks at the fingers twined with his and the edges of his throat become rigid.
Why is his subconscious so intent on this, slogging him through a replay of what was transient and profound and crumbling. He lives with this. He does, he copes, he does what he does, he moves past simple existing and actively goes and does something with himself besides wallow in what happened years ago and what he couldn't have prevented then.
The weeks that followed -
The weeks that followed had been among the worst in his life. That's counting the necrotic tedium of death by radioactive bombardment. That's counting the the countless memories he can casually draw up regarding torture and the times he's been killed and the times he's been tortured and then killed and then dragged back from that brink to be tortured some more. Because mourning is singular. Memories of his deaths are many, absurd variations on a single theme, but grief is -
"I know," says Daniel, can he do this, can he just turn around, and his tone becomes pained. "You're not really here." Like before, how she wasn't, except when she was. Is this going to become a theme with him? Things that aren't there? People that aren't there? Things that have already happened?No, he tells his subconscious as sternly as he can, which is, characteristically, completely lacking in any detectable sternness. No. No thank you.
His subconscious, equally characteristically, chooses to ignore him.
no subject
Why is his subconscious so intent on this, slogging him through a replay of what was transient and profound and crumbling. He lives with this. He does, he copes, he does what he does, he moves past simple existing and actively goes and does something with himself besides wallow in what happened years ago and what he couldn't have prevented then.
The weeks that followed -
The weeks that followed had been among the worst in his life. That's counting the necrotic tedium of death by radioactive bombardment. That's counting the the countless memories he can casually draw up regarding torture and the times he's been killed and the times he's been tortured and then killed and then dragged back from that brink to be tortured some more. Because mourning is singular. Memories of his deaths are many, absurd variations on a single theme, but grief is -
"I know," says Daniel, can he do this, can he just turn around, and his tone becomes pained. "You're not really here." Like before, how she wasn't, except when she was. Is this going to become a theme with him? Things that aren't there? People that aren't there? Things that have already happened? No, he tells his subconscious as sternly as he can, which is, characteristically, completely lacking in any detectable sternness. No. No thank you.
His subconscious, equally characteristically, chooses to ignore him.