Hospital Girl
Mar. 1st, 2007 06:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psychometricChelsea Sandstrom lies in a bed at Middle Area Hospital. She's not strapped down, and at the moment, only a few wires and IVs are attached to her. They monitor her vital functions, which are steady if a bit weaker than would be ideal, and keep her hydrated. If she hasn't come out of her catatonia soon, a feeding tube will probably be added. But there are no restraints holding her down. It's almost as if the doctors are hoping she'll get out of bed on her own.
Inside her mind, the fires have gone out. She thinks she's waiting to die. No one could live through what she's experienced, she thinks, and she's right; Zoe McCallister sure didn't. Chelsea thinks that her body has been burnt away, too. When she wakes up, she'll be afraid to look in a mirror, expecting to see a blackened husk there.
She lies in the bed in the hospital, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling without seeing it, tears still running down the sides of her face and into her hair. She hasn't spoken, has barely blinked, since she was brought in. But every so often, just a little, her lips move.
Were someone a lip-reader, and a patient one who spent a while watching her, they might decipher what she's struggling to tell the world. It might be a message from beyond the grave, or just from a girl who thinks that's where she should be now.
She's here. She's here.
Inside her mind, the fires have gone out. She thinks she's waiting to die. No one could live through what she's experienced, she thinks, and she's right; Zoe McCallister sure didn't. Chelsea thinks that her body has been burnt away, too. When she wakes up, she'll be afraid to look in a mirror, expecting to see a blackened husk there.
She lies in the bed in the hospital, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling without seeing it, tears still running down the sides of her face and into her hair. She hasn't spoken, has barely blinked, since she was brought in. But every so often, just a little, her lips move.
Were someone a lip-reader, and a patient one who spent a while watching her, they might decipher what she's struggling to tell the world. It might be a message from beyond the grave, or just from a girl who thinks that's where she should be now.
She's here. She's here.
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Date: 2007-03-03 01:47 am (UTC)Finally, he whispers back to her, "She's here? Is that it? Chelsea, she's here? Wh..." Why would she say -that- to him? Why wouldn't she acknowledge him, if she knows he's here, to talk? He frowns, deeply, and considers this.
He must trust that she is his friend, and if this is what she is saying, it must be the most important thing that she can say, otherwise, he reasons, she -would- impart something else to him.
"I have to go now," he continues. "I'll tell them, all right? Perhaps they'll know? I don't know... come back, all right? All right. I have to go."