In Exile (for the addiction challenge)
Author Bast
SVU
Though the day is warm, she wears long sleeves and denim jeans.
Perched on the parks rusty picnic table, one foot on the bench, one dangling in the grass, she watches a group of children playing tag. She could watch and say nothing all afternoon. She has been so long in isolation and silence that she has come to crave them. Moments, hours, days go by when she does not care about anything--when she has no appetite and gets no sleep. Times when the only effort she makes is to walk from her apartment to the seedy, overgrown park and watch the children.
They're used to her now--the tall, thin lady with the sad eyes--and for the most part they ignore her. Once the bravest of their group asked her name, and she turned so pale and shook so badly that he ran away. Now, though they play near her, they keep their distance. Still, she comes to watch...
She shakes a cigarette from the package and lights the tip. Smoking is a part of her new identity: Susan Marie Hill, born in Cleveland, Ohio, on May 19, 1969, unmarried, smoker, computer programmer. Hobbies--working out and eyeing men at the gym--but never, ever pursuing them.
It's all a lie.
Except, of course about the smoking. She found that she took to it like a duck to water. It provides the only comfort, peace, and partnership that she allows herself.
The day has turned dark. Rain threatens. The children gather up their baseballs, and frisbees, and reign in their kites. In the distance thunder rumbles. She trudges back to her apartment building and takes the stairs to the third floor. The smell of urine and spilled beer hardly register with her now. She inserts the key into the scratched metal lock and enters.
The apartment is dark and humid. At first she has trouble making out the shapes, then as her eyes adjust, she slips into the protective familiarity of it like a caterpillar in a cocoon. She throws herself onto the sagging brown couch and lights up.
Exhaling, she wonders idly what Olivia would think of her now.
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Author Bast
SVU
Though the day is warm, she wears long sleeves and denim jeans.
Perched on the parks rusty picnic table, one foot on the bench, one dangling in the grass, she watches a group of children playing tag. She could watch and say nothing all afternoon. She has been so long in isolation and silence that she has come to crave them. Moments, hours, days go by when she does not care about anything--when she has no appetite and gets no sleep. Times when the only effort she makes is to walk from her apartment to the seedy, overgrown park and watch the children.
They're used to her now--the tall, thin lady with the sad eyes--and for the most part they ignore her. Once the bravest of their group asked her name, and she turned so pale and shook so badly that he ran away. Now, though they play near her, they keep their distance. Still, she comes to watch...
She shakes a cigarette from the package and lights the tip. Smoking is a part of her new identity: Susan Marie Hill, born in Cleveland, Ohio, on May 19, 1969, unmarried, smoker, computer programmer. Hobbies--working out and eyeing men at the gym--but never, ever pursuing them.
It's all a lie.
Except, of course about the smoking. She found that she took to it like a duck to water. It provides the only comfort, peace, and partnership that she allows herself.
The day has turned dark. Rain threatens. The children gather up their baseballs, and frisbees, and reign in their kites. In the distance thunder rumbles. She trudges back to her apartment building and takes the stairs to the third floor. The smell of urine and spilled beer hardly register with her now. She inserts the key into the scratched metal lock and enters.
The apartment is dark and humid. At first she has trouble making out the shapes, then as her eyes adjust, she slips into the protective familiarity of it like a caterpillar in a cocoon. She throws herself onto the sagging brown couch and lights up.
Exhaling, she wonders idly what Olivia would think of her now.
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