**O.K. This story is LARGELY unfinished. I thought of it after last
night's episode. I've tried coming up with a plot and I seem to be unable
to come up with an actual good one. Hah. So, this beginning stands as
perhaps a spark for anyone else who wants to take up the cause!**
I catch myself looking at it sometimes. I'll be standing in front of the mirror, getting dressed after a shower or changing my shirt or something and. there it is. Peeking out from just above the waist of my jeans.
Flat, shiny, pink and jagged- a blaring imperfection on otherwise unblemished skin.
The scar, of course, was simply one of the enigmas left to me by my two year lapse in memory.
At least until.
The scar, I learned painfully, was the mark of a C-section. I'd had a child in my missing 24 months. A child who I can't remember.
Though I often dream of her.
A buxom two year old with joyful golden curls that bounce as she walks with me- her small hand warm in mine. I'm happy, I think.
She calls me Ma.
It's a pleasant day, the sun shining relentlessly upon us. Soon, however, I must do something that neither of us will like.
But. now, a memory is tearing at the edges of my consciousness. A conversation with someone that I loved very much. Almost as much as I love her.
*You covered?
Ah. yeah. I think I took one this morning.
You think?
Yeah. don't worry about it.
God, you're so beautiful.*
I can't- it hurts- I can't remember this. It hurts! Oh, God. The little girl. She's- my daughter, but. she looks like someone else- she does. I've seen that nose, the green in her tiny eyes. and though I try there is simply no hiding from it.
Her father was Michael Vaughn.
**Dun-dun-dun! A night of unprotected sex the night before Syd's disappearance produced a daughter! Who wants to see this continue? Write it!**
I catch myself looking at it sometimes. I'll be standing in front of the mirror, getting dressed after a shower or changing my shirt or something and. there it is. Peeking out from just above the waist of my jeans.
Flat, shiny, pink and jagged- a blaring imperfection on otherwise unblemished skin.
The scar, of course, was simply one of the enigmas left to me by my two year lapse in memory.
At least until.
The scar, I learned painfully, was the mark of a C-section. I'd had a child in my missing 24 months. A child who I can't remember.
Though I often dream of her.
A buxom two year old with joyful golden curls that bounce as she walks with me- her small hand warm in mine. I'm happy, I think.
She calls me Ma.
It's a pleasant day, the sun shining relentlessly upon us. Soon, however, I must do something that neither of us will like.
But. now, a memory is tearing at the edges of my consciousness. A conversation with someone that I loved very much. Almost as much as I love her.
*You covered?
Ah. yeah. I think I took one this morning.
You think?
Yeah. don't worry about it.
God, you're so beautiful.*
I can't- it hurts- I can't remember this. It hurts! Oh, God. The little girl. She's- my daughter, but. she looks like someone else- she does. I've seen that nose, the green in her tiny eyes. and though I try there is simply no hiding from it.
Her father was Michael Vaughn.
**Dun-dun-dun! A night of unprotected sex the night before Syd's disappearance produced a daughter! Who wants to see this continue? Write it!**