song_tra_bong: (napalm)
Mary Anne Bell ([personal profile] song_tra_bong) wrote2007-08-06 11:23 pm

(no subject)

She is falling twisting falling, not even looking where she's going just knows what she needs closest place safest place where she can find


She hits the lake hard, plunging deep with her momentum, but it doesn't matter. She'll breathe water if she has to, just so long as that feeling, that smell is gone.
grace is a gift for the fallen, dear
When spots start flickering at the edges of her vision, she finally surfaces. She spends a moment treading water before she slips sideways through reality again, this time going to somewhere she knows very well.
you're an angry blade
She staggers her first few steps on Vietnam soil. It's been months since she last came here, but the first few breaths of air already make her feel better. She finds a patch of decent cover in a cluster of trees, then sits down to survey the damage.
and you're brave but you're all alone
Her arm doesn't look like much of an arm any more. It looks rather like ground, burnt meat. Eerily enough, this helps a little. If she could still see her arm in it, she wouldn't be able to keep from screaming while she worked. The burns get treated first and are easier than she'd thought. It's strange to see a burn work backwards--blisters and cracked skin becoming clean and whole simply by force of will.
turning a shade
Now the only thing that looks out of place is her hand. This will be harder.
of an angel born in a bramble ditch
She straightens her fingers out as best she can, which isn't very far before a wrong move causes her to nearly black out. Then she closes her eyes. She remembers her hand--holding a knife, breaking down a gun, drumming her fingers on a tabletop--and feels things shift. After a few minutes, she starts massaging the back and palm of her wounded hand, encouraging things to move back to their rightful place. She hears faint snicks as bones realign.
when the doors of heaven closed
Finally, finally she opens her eyes and it's like (he never touched her) nothing happened. She has the space of a heartbeat to enjoy her recovery before exhaustion sweeps over her. Things would have mostly taken care of themselves overnight had she left them alone, but she knows she'd never have been able to wait that long. Now, worn out, she curls up under the brush, cradling her (good as new) arm to her chest.

She will sleep for the better part of a day before she wakes.

who left you so?

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