A/N: Don't look at me like that. I'm having writing difficulties. Sometimes it helps for me to run away from what's stumping me…just hope I don't run too horribly far away. I might get lost and that would be bad.
Storms
Missing Pieces
Odi et Amn: quare id faciam, fortasse requiris. Nescio, sed fieri sentro et excrucior – I love you and I hate you – You ask me why this is so; I do not know, but I feel it, and it torments me.
-Catullus
She is the one who is supposed to be whole.
They expect it of her; need it. She's the only one who does not fall under the shadow of her own doom, has not lost all her family, does not pursue the last living bit of her past, was not betrayed to bloody ruin by her love.
For them she tries, ignoring the ache behind her ribs just by the spine, that empty bit ripped away and stolen. She feels it somewhere out there wandering, always moving with a restlessness unseemly in the dead. When she's alone she lets the empty place tug her eyes towards that last piece. If she squints her eyes behind her bangs she imagines she can see her other self.
Bandaging someone's arm, picking flowers with a child, stealing some dead girl's soul.
She wonders, as she rides behind her friends, if her previous incarnation cares what she's doing. This careless toying with other's destinies, stopping the souls from growing into their next lives. There will be no karmic justice meted out to these women; they just cease to exist.
But she is supposed to be whole, not wondering if in the next turn of the wheel her reincarnation will be forced to pay for what that one piece of soul had done. So she smiles and pretends that she knows what she's talking about when she tells them that everything will come out alright.