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Author's Note: I have come to the conclusion that I will most likely not update regurlay enough to write a real series in the near future or finish one. Even though I have a perfectly fine chapter that is 3/4 finished as a sequel to Time Heals Every Wonder and the second part of Christmas Lights sitting somewhere on a USB stick.
Summary: London Nights at The River Thames is a series of prompts that I have stolen from1sentence. The prompts will be no more than 500something words long and therefore I am optimistic I can update rather regurlarly in the next couple of months. Hope you'll be enjoying. I certainly did writing this little piece, even though it turned out surprisingly dark and agnsty. JUst to prewarn you, you might wanna get some chocolate and a cup of tea. Prompt is: #08 Cold.
The Beating of the Weeping Heart
The truth lies in the moment of utter fear that is shortly overcome by a rush of pure adrenaline through the veins of a person - a savior. Furthermore this exact truth shines ironically bright through the minutes following the arrival of tragedy; when a young doctor presses their warm hands on the pink flesh of the Musculus Sartorius whose skin has been torn apart opening up the beige cracked structure of the femur, in desperate need to stop the aortic bleed. A mission that is bound to fail.
The truth is a steaming pot of hot soup. The ingredients are nothing short of an obsession with science and an incredibly idealistic idea. It's a fight against the dark lord that has yet to be won.
This truth is revealed in the mere seconds before death when one of those faithful souls, martyrs, presses their hands tightly to the wound that is leaking blood with every pulsating stroke of the heart that one can feel getting fewer and less forceful moment by moment.
Red. All she can see and feel and smell is blood on her hands, on her arms, on her legs. Everywhere. The smell of iron runs up the young doctor's nose and clouds up her central nervous system.
Her mind is racing but her body is working on auto-pilot. Observe. Check. Search body for visible injuries. Check. Tend to detected visible injuries. Check. Search body for signs of internal injuries. Check. Tend to aid of interior injuries. Do not move if there are possibilities for serious internal injuries. Check. Wait for ambulance. Check.
She can hear the sound of the ambulance from a few blocks away and its horn driving past cars of on-lookers. Though a shudder is creeping up her spine, a suspicion is slowly uncovering in the depths of her mind as if to strangulate her determination.
A soft voice is repeatedly calling out. The sound is breathy and weak. Someone is calling for someone else. Someone is calling for `Addie´. Derek is calling out for `Addie´. He is calling out for her. His eyes cloudy, his pupils dilated and his lips so dry he can barely get the thought to sound out anymore.
"Athie…don't leave me."
His eyes close for a short moment. A moment of pure horror for Addison.
"Stay with me, Derek." She pled, her voice shaking and her throat tight from the tears that are running down her cheeks in this rainy Seattle November and mixing with the salt on the concrete.
"Athie, I l…"
"I will. I will. I'll stay with you…Forever, Derek. Forever. Don't you dare to give up. Stay with me. Please."
It's too late. The last waves of blood are slowly pulsating out of the body and running down the thigh muscle adding to the dark red puddle next to the body. The heart has stopped and the life is gone.
On this gray, rainy November day in Seattle another martyr has died a heroic death. Or two.
Dr. Addison Forbes Montgomery. A martyr because whenever someone slips away from her grasp, under her fingers with her standing by unable to save, she herself dies piece by piece. Dr. Addison Montgomery, a victim of her own love and faith.