Hi...yeah, I felt like writing this. The whole premise is that Wilson can't get over Amber's death and in his dreams he starts seeing a girl who died in a similar way and helps him get over it. I kind of based the story on the song "Bixby Canyon Bridge" by Death Cab for Cutie, so you may see some lyrics in there. I don't own House MD or any songs in here, so be aware of that!
Please read & review, it would mean a lot to me!
FutureWriterofAmericaACTIVATE
I descended a dusty gravel ridge
beneath the Bixby Canyon Bridge
Until I eventually arrived
at the place where your soul had died.
Wilson cleared the hair out of his face, walking down the steep gravel road in the middle of a sweltering heat, batting gnats out of his face. He had been here every day for a month. Every night, when his head hit the pillow, he wound up…here. In the country. Next to farmhouses and apple orchards; the proverbial ghetto to someone like him, who had grown up in the city. He had never even seen an apple tree. So why were they so vivid in his mind's inner eye? Maybe that was something to figure out when he woke up to his own personal hell…
He ventured further down the path, occasionally stopping to brush ferns away from his legs (they felt so real when he touched them!). A small green lizard scuttled away from him. He could just make it out, in the distance, a vast, shimmering river, the rocks strangely golden, the opalescent water frothing benignly. He stared at the water for what felt like hours, glaring at it, daring it to try to look more uncaring and cold. It ignored him (Ignored? He was going crazy, rivers are inanimate…) and lazily drifted elsewhere. He sighed and looked away, closing his eyes and rubbing them quietly. He opened them again, hoping that his dream would stop repeating itself.
It didn't. He was staring at it, staring at the bus overturned in the wreckage, staring at the twisted metal remains of a vehicle. He blinked, looked away, tried to burn the image from his mind, but no, he couldn't, because it was replaced by her bed, her hospital room; in a whirl of color that was replaced by her casket, her funeral, her grave…
Wilson woke with a start, gasping, wrapped in the sheets she had picked out, sweating fiercely. God damned dream.
I hope you liked it! Please R&R. There will be more.
FutureWriterofAmericaACTIVATE