Thing one: Wow! I got 5 reviews fast! Thanks so much!
Thing two: This chapter may seem weird and cheesy, but it's necessary to set up her emotions for the following chappies.
Thing three: WARNING. Tierney writes bad poetry because I write bad poetry. Please don't kill me.
THing four: keep watching! because you never know who may show up in the next chapter or two!
And without further ado...
10: An Epic Poetic
Our respective doors that had been inching open toward each other to reveal the hidden rooms within were suddenly and mutually slammed in the other's face. I made sure he could see nothing but an inscrutable expression on my face. I could see nothing behind his impenetrable mask expect one thing: anger. This I knew because he had begun calling me "Miss Lawson" again. And I knew that Dr. Jonathan Crane's anger was dangerous.
I sat in my cell one night and pondered my awful situation. Would I ever get out of Arkham? Would I ever be safe from Crane? Oh, the cruel twists of fate. It sounded poem worthy.
Poems… I walked to my door and rapped on it. "Guard? I want some paper and a pen."
He gave me a yellow legal pad and a ballpoint pen and I sat on the cot and tried to put my thoughts in order.
Danger is a pair of blue eyes glaring
at me.
Pain is the ache I feel in my soul when my mind
taunts me with shreds of memory and steals them
away again.
Love is the emotion I cannot remember feeling
and do not ever think I will.
Fear is the automatic response
to danger and pain.
Madness is the absence of love and an overabundance
of fear.
I re-read what I had written with a critical eye. That made sense…sort of.
O woe, to think that freedom, once between my grasp
is evermore lost to me.
Harley refuses to believe that I am sane,
Jervis and Edward are mad,
and I have fallen out most drastically with Crane.
Arkham locks you up and takes away your liberty.
Love, a strange thing, one part happiness,
one part pain,
tricks you, undoes you, traps you inside
until at last there is nowhere left to hide
from your heart.
It presents you with the object of your desire and affection
and throws it in your face before it rips itself in two,
which is quite illogical when you think about it.
For hearts are not meant to rip, nor feel,
But to pump blood through your system.
So perhaps it is not my heart that is doing all this feeling.
Perhaps it's my head, but my head should know better.
Perhaps it's my eyes; perhaps it's my ears.
Perhaps I'm not in love at all.
Perhaps I never began to be in love in the first place.
Perhaps the only thing I ever felt for him was thankfulness,
which quickly died.
O sun, don't you agree that it is wretched unfair
that the cruelness of fate
Should manifest itself upon me?
I actually thought –for only a smidgen of an instant! –that he cared.
It must have been a crush because
That is what happened
To my heart.
I'm not in love.
Could I be in hate? In fear? In danger?
It is quite possible that I am in danger
from many people.
From coppers, from crazies,
from doctors, from daisies,
from unseen foes I know not of.
Beware, carry your vorpal blade in hand,
Let not my manxome foe triumph.
I shall go galumphing back to the slithy toves
So brillig, and to the mimsy borogoves
And the mome raths outgrabe.
I had started talking about love and emotions and ended up quoting the Jabberwocky poem.
Story of my life.
The part I remember, anyway.
Let's make it 10 reviews this time, just because I think the next chapter is worth it. XD [that's my evil face] So you know what to do! I love feedback.
Added bonus: We're having a contest! when you review, submit what you think would be a good summary for this story. I'm thinking mine isn't very good.
And away...we...go!