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Post by strizzy on May 20, 2007 6:26:18 GMT 10
Great update!!
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Post by smile90 on May 22, 2007 22:40:49 GMT 10
wow.. beautiful!! I love your writing style.. it's not just describing the situation it's moer about the feelings and emotions!! wonderful!!!
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Jun 6, 2007 4:24:40 GMT 10
Hi! Sorry for the wait, but translating it's a hard job. Hope you like it. 6. The automatic doors open and close. They’re new, modern, with a shiny and clean Plexiglas. Opened. Closed. Perfectly working. The sight is disturbing compared with what he has expected. But why not? Years pass, things change, things are forgotten. Modernity makes progress. He is the problem. He is always the problem. Trapped man. Opened. Closed. People are walking in and out, almost peaceful while lost in their own preoccupation. People forget, people move on, people weren’t even there. Opened. Closed. Hypnotizing. *** BOOOOMMM!!! “Damn! That one was really close!” “Don’t they know this is a hospital?”, angry an disappointed tone. “They know, they know”, Luka. His tone is bitter instead. “Doctor, we need you!” Quick run through the ward. Slalom among gurneys. Hurt man, opened abdomen, blood. Plink, plink, drops on the floor. This man needs something that isn’t there. This man needs a miracle. “Ok, at least we can try to stabilize him”, his voice is already defeated. On the man’s wedding finger there’s a gold band. Somewhere, in Vukovar, another widow is going to born. “Dr Kovac, he lost too much blood” Plink, plink… “We can…” BOOOMMMM!!! Lights go out suddenly. Darkness. The only light coming from the flames devastating a near building. The harmed man is still, eyes closed. The weeding band seems to be too shiny. It hurts if you look at it. Luka blinks. He doesn't want to look at his own left hand. He sighs. It will never end. “Time of death…” ***Opened. Closed. Opened. Closed. A lot of people. Something you can’t really imagined. A step. Another one. The doors open again. For him this time. For him, it’s his turn. He’s inside now. Everything has changed, everything is new, but he can still see lost traces of old times. He can still see himself in that place. And it hurts, it hurts a lot. A very cute desk clerk is smiling warmly at him: “Are you looking for someone?”. He shakes his head. He walks toward the waiting room. It’s almost empty. Typical chairs made in hard plastic. All around him perfection, cleanliness. Aseptic environment. There’s no sense. He leans against the back. He breathes slowly. In front of him a doctor is flirting with a nurse. It’s all so banal and obvious. His head starts pounding. He closes his eyes. *** He wants to open his eyes, but he can’t. He can’t understand. Something is happening, he can hear a lot of confused and scared voices. Sam, one of them belongs to Sam. And the other ones? He’s paralyzed. He can’t even breathe. The air, the air is leaving his lungs, he can feel them becoming deflated and he can’t stop it. He’s choking, he’s choking and he can’t move, his diaphragm blocked, he’s going to die and what a stupid death is going to be when…oxygen finally. Someone is bagging him. Sam. He can hear her voice. She’s stroking his hair, trying to soothing him. “He needs to be intubated” The tube going down his throat is tremendous, it’s scratching his trachea, it’s almost more suffocating than the lack of air. Time is passing slowly. He decides on concentrating on breathing. He hears some shots. Abby? Where will she be? He prays she is safe. Finally he can open his eyes. Darkness. He can move again a little. He turns his head. Right, left, right again. Abby. He can see her through the door, she is ok, she seems to be ok. He starts feeling relieved but suddenly…what’s on her hand? Blood? Oh G*d, no, no, no, she’s passing out, oh G*d, someone helps her, she needs help, someone… ***His eyes spring open. Cold sweat is running down his spine. He’s shaking. That’s not Chicago, that’s Vukovar. Vukovar. He laughs bitterly, as if things could be better. Chicago, Vukovar…one way ticket, maybe. A week and things are still the same. A week and he feels only worse. Someone suddenly appears in front of him. A doctor. His eyes are full of understanding. As if he knew everything. It’s kind of weird. “Needing help?” He shakes his head no. Nobody can help him, nobody. His eyes are stinging with tears. Again. The things he thought could have been in the hospital aren’t there. He can see only cleanness and modernity. As if someone took away all memories with a rag. He stands, exhausted. His head is spinning, but he can keep his balance. He starts walking, defeated. It’s too early to come back to his hotel room. There’s too much to think in that lonely room. And the telephone on the nightstand hurts him too much. “We have a plate, in the garden. It’s not much, but it helps remembering” It’s the same doctor he talked to him a while ago. Apparently he hasn’t said a word, his eyes fixed on a chart, but Luka knows he has spoken to him. He turns around quickly. For less than a second the doctor raises his eyes from the chart, meeting Luka’s. Less than a second. But it’s enough. He knows. Luka leaves. The garden is simple. On the trees the first blossoms are opening. Life goes on, even there, even in Vukovar. It’s a thought that hurts him a little. The plate is few meters away. A sigh. Another one. Finding the strength to walk seems something impossible. Courage, all that names had it. It’s time for him to find it too. ------ A little note to help you: during Vukovar siege, the Medical Center has been attacked and destroyed. I have a series of articles concerning it. Considering these articles are about violent situations, send me a PM if you want the link.
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Jun 21, 2007 3:52:49 GMT 10
Hi!! Thanks to all the people are reading this. And a BIG thanks to Nina who kindly helped me with the Croatian translation...thank you so much!! 7. “Neka im Dragi Bog da da spavaju na krilima andela”He knew it. But he can’t believe it. It’s simply not possible. Among the millionth existing phrases they picked up that one. The only one which means so much to him. Memories, memories. Vukovar in Chicago and Chicago in Vukovar. Hospitals and coworkers so similar. Life is a circle. Everything repeats itself. Always. *** “Shouldn’t we say something?” Happy place, shocking coloured cocktails. His own, it’s in a fluorescent green. The people seated at that table are neither laughing nor joking. The people seated at that table have sadness as company. Sadness. And Mark. Mark, who believed it. Mark, with his new and happy life. Mark, unique true heart of their ER. Silence. And then, Luka. His voice, coming from far away. “Neka mu Dragi Bog da da spava na krilu andela”* ***And right now, one more time again. The same sentence, with tons of different memories. He touches the plate. It’s cold, lifeless. The engraved names impress themselves into his palm, into his heart. He looks quickly at the list. He doesn’t want to read. Reading means admitting. But that is the purpose of his visit, isn’t it? Dusan Kovacevic, MD. Dusan, eternally serious and neat. Dusan, who never joked. Valerija Kostelic, MD. What a smile, Valerija. As bright as sun reflexes on the sea. Valerija, endlessly in love with Dusan. Sanija Simic, MD. Sanija, the moody one. Sanija, so able to get angry at you for no reason. Janko Pavic, MD. Janko, the Chief of the Staff. Janko, with his fatherly eyes and his warm smile. Janko who loved Luka as a child. Janko, who saved his life. Ratko Savic, MD. Ratko, the lazy one. Ratko, never there when you needed him most. Ratko, and his bets on soccer matches. Lavinija Mesic, nurse. Lavinija, the clever one. Lavinija, the sensitive one. Lavinija, the perfect listener among all them. Nina Boban, nurse. Nina, always late. Nina, always running trough wards. Nina, so shy she can easily go unnoticed. And all the other names, eternally impressed on the shiny metal. Names which had a face, names which spoke, laughed, interacted with him. Months spent with them, months, speaking about the future. And now, their future is nothing more than a cold plate. A plate, and someone who can remember them. Someone who can associate a face or a smile or an expression to those names. Someone. Luka. He’s unreal, Luka, while putting his forehead on his left hand with his right hand still placed against the plate. He cries, sobbing, his body shaken, he cries for all these names, these names which mean so much to him. Names of people swallowed by Vukovar, cold heartless town. He doesn’t know how much time is passing, but he can’t move, he just wants to stay like this, greeting all these names, homaging them, feeling that they are answering him. He can almost hear their voices, as if nothing has ever happened. *** “I might say every year we’re very lucky with the new students”, ironical tone, Sanija. She is always disagreeing. “Of course, you’re always so optimistic”, Valerija, eternally on the bright side of things. “What are you looking at?”, Ratko, completely clueless as usual. “Our new students” “Oh my G*d, we’re still recovering from the fantastic duo Kovac - Kovacevic from last year!” “I like Luka” “How can you be blamed, Lavinija? Everyone likes Luka”, Sanija replies. Nina, from her corner, is only able to blush. “Ok, you’re right…but Dusan, too, he’s not that bad” “Of course, Valerija, of course” “Guys, I know you like cruelly judging students, but don’t you think it is better going to work?”, Dr Pavic, as usual, comes to establish order again. He’s not angry. He loves his guys. He has no sons and he has found a bunch of them in his ER. “Nina, please, go to help Dr Kovac in Suture Room” “I knew it. That Nina one, she plays the shy one so she can have the best occasions…” “Sanija, you’re always the same” ***He’s still crying, Luka. He’s crying because of all those meaningless chats, because no-one among them knew what life had in store for them, because laughing and having fun was everything which mattered. Because life, during those far away days, was beautiful and easy, because if they had known, if they had known… But maybe it has been better this way. It has been better being able to imagine a future, a family, children, journeys, loves, passions, to imagine life. *** “And in ten years, how do you imagine yourself in ten years?” “Happy” “Happy” “Realised” “With a wife and a two or three children” “In love and beloved” “Happy” ***Of course, happy. Happy. Among the thousandth possibilities no one picked up dead. Dead. Dead in an absurd and unpredictable way. Dead, after a long series of suffering. Dead, because of an ethnic. Dead. Luka lets himself kneel on the ground, in front of the plate. It’s still cold under his palm, and the cold is penetrating his body. Mortal cold, gravestone cold. Cold of people who will never be able to get warm again. Tears are still soaking his cheeks, his shoulders shaken by noisy sobs. A hand on his shoulder. The doctor from a while ago. The doctor who knows: “For you”, a simple white candle, its wax a little consumed and ruined. The dark candlestick contrasts vividly with the whiteness of the candle. His hand is trembling while putting the candle in front of the plate. Match, little flame. The wick starts immediately to burn. The flame dances lightly in front of his eyes. It’s yellow, red, orange. Living flame. On the plate, warm flashes. “It’s over” Eyes shut, last sobs in his throat. A little nod. Inexorability. End. Destiny. “You must have loved them so much. I’m sure they loved you a lot” He turns back, Luka, his sea-green eyes still wet with tears. He’s incredulous. That doctor knows too many things. “They must be happy now. You greeted them, told them adieu” Silence. The doctor smiles a little, his lips slightly curved. “Your eyes…I can see the destiny in them. And even if you can’t understand my words, they have a sense for me. And for Vukovar, too” Then, he goes away. Luka stands with a little difficulty. He stares at the candle and then at the plate. He can still hear his friends’ laughter. Relieved is still too much, but maybe he’s feeling a little better. Maybe he has won the first round. --- *"May the Dear Lord give him to sleep on a wings of an angel" (this is what Luka said while making a toast to Mark. Can't remember the epi name...sorry!) --- What do you think?
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Jul 6, 2007 19:05:41 GMT 10
Hi, I've noticed I'm getting little feedback for my story. It's not a problem, likings and dislikings are personal things. But I need to know your opinions. If you don't like it, please tell me (without being too rude, please, I'm a sensitive girl) and I'll stop posting it. It won't be a problem for me, I like this board and I'm not here just to post my FF. Hope you understood my words.
Kia
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Post by Rach :) on Jul 7, 2007 8:40:06 GMT 10
i just caught up with your FF!
i like it please keep updating!
The only reason i didnt reply is becasue i didnt realise you had updated!!
Update soon i understand whats going on now!!
Rachel xox
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Post by smile90 on Jul 8, 2007 19:06:00 GMT 10
I like your fic! Honestly! but I'm still a little bit confused!
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Jul 15, 2007 23:02:06 GMT 10
Ok, thank you so much for your answers. Here's a new update. Hope you like it. 8. The web is dancing lightly with the wind blowing softly through the opened window. Luka’s staring at it, wondering if there is any difference between it and himself. He thinks no. The two of them just let themselves be moved around by things. They’re defenceless, they have no reactions. Forceless, powerless, lifeless. The mattress is hard and uncomfortable, impregnated with a heavy odour of naphthalene. Sadness above sadness. It’s still night, out there, and he’s still unable to sleep. The remaining of his dinner, or better his full dinner, lies forgotten on its ordinary tray. He can’t sleep, he can’t eat. He’s letting himself be carried. Vukovar’s going to take him. He shifts, sighing. His back hurts, his muscles are drained because of the lack of sleep. Old scars are painfully itching. His lips are dry, cracked. His eyes red. Almost ten days in Vukovar and he feels like a corpse. The mattress is hard. He’s not going to sleep. *** Grass is soft under his back. Sky has the identical blue of his young eyes. “I’ll be a great doctor” Danijela, seated next to him, laughs quietly. “Till yesterday you didn’t even know if Medicine was the right choice”, she doesn’t care, of course. She loves him, she only needs to stay with him. Nothing else. “I’m glad to know you’re supporting me” Luka puts one of his hands on her back, stroking gently the long delicate curve of her spine. She’s perfect, beautiful. And she’s his. She turns and stares at him lovingly. While turning, her shirt slips down revealing a white shoulder. Far away, some children are playing. And Luka is sure that is the most beautiful day of his life. He’s happy, he’s whole. And he’ll remember forever that day: the day he decided to become a doctor. That day, unforgettable, like Danijela’s white and exciting shoulder. Unforgettable. And perfect. ***He stands and grabs a cigarette. He lights it slowly, pensively. He inhales. The smoke goes down into his lungs. He coughs a couple of times. He inhales again. He coughs again. He stares at the cigarette. It’s burning itself out slowly. Weird analogy with his life. Suddenly, he’s scared. He puts it out. He throws it away. The stars. Sky is so full of stars during that strange night. Vukovar can be terrifying and terrific at the same time. Vukovar, true mean queen who scares and fascinates all her subjects. Love and hate. Repulsion and passion. Vukovar. The stars. Millionths of them. *** “Look, Luka! A falling star!” Abby raises just slightly her head from his chest to take a better look. Her rounded belly is pressed softly against his hip. “I thought you were sleeping” “Nah, your son is still playing with my bladder” Luka grins. His son. He still can’t believe it. “Make a wish” He doesn’t speak, exhausted. The following morning he’s going to have an early morning shift, and then a boring meeting with Kerry and Anspaugh. His eyes are falling shut. “Hey, I’m waiting for an answer!”, Abby pinches his arm, her voice laughing. “Mmmm…I wish…I wish…you fell asleep right here, right now” She laughs and pinches him again. “Very funny, Dr Kovac…you know your wish isn’t going to become true, don’t you?” “I had a premonition about that…” He looks at her. He strokes her cheek. She’s beautiful, her cheek a little puffy, her skin shiny, her smile sweet. When all your wishes have become true, for whom do stars fall? He follows her neck with a finger. She shivers slightly. They are staring at each other. Passion, love, the two of them. And a baby. Maybe they are not in need of stars anymore. ***What a stupid he has been. Stop dreaming is like stop believing. Stars. Of course, he still needs them. There’s Abby in Chicago. A star for her, wishing she could sleep well without him. There’s his father in Croatia. A star for him, wishing he could stop worrying about him. There’s his brother in Croatia, too. A star for him, wishing he could understand why he left his homeland. There’s Joe, asleep in a warm and cozy crib. A star for him, who has a whole life ahead. And there’s him. Still in front of that window in Vukovar. A star for him, wishing he could be able to forgive himself, wishing he could understand, wishing he could remember, wishing he could be able to come back again. And there’s Vukovar, at the end. A star for her, wishing she could stop torturing him. For whom do stars fall, when all your wishes have become true? For whom? Luka wishes only it wasn’t too late.
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Post by Rach :) on Jul 16, 2007 4:47:53 GMT 10
love the update keep going!!
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Aug 12, 2007 2:24:48 GMT 10
Hi! Sorry for the wait. Here's chapter 9. Hope you like it. Imprecisions about cevapcici are all mine. -Kia- 9. The familiar smell makes his head spin. A family, on his left. Mom, dad and a five-year-old son. Everything normal. Everything obvious. Everything expected. Joyful glances, laughter. A happy family. Usual bench in the usual park. Usual sun which starts to warm. Usual melancholic and abandoned Luka. Usual menacing Vukovar. Immobility. But it’s the smell which is disturbing his thoughts. The smell. *** “Luka, you’re going to burn the meat…” “That’s not true!” Doubtful glance, a well-knowingly glance. Every woman owns such similar glance. It’s the glance every single woman’s going to use with her husband. Men, they know nothing. “Dani, just stop it! I’ve been grilling cevapcici since I was a kid” “You mean you looked at your father doing it” He turns, offended. In that moment Marko starts wailing. Daniela goes to him. Luka can’t hide his satisfaction. The grill is his own business. Just like cars, electronics and soccer games. Obvious, expected. Men and women. Immobile evolution. ***They’re eating now, as if they didn’t care about the whole world. And probably it’s true. Happy people are always a little weird, a little far away from reality. *** “Luka, we’re going to catch a cold!” “C’mon, you know it’s only an old-wives tale” Imploring glance. Luka, who’s able to speak without saying a word. How is she supposed to resist him? “Ok, but this is the first and the last time I’ll do such things” Abby steps closer to him. Large raindrops are marking her coat and pants, she feels them soaking her hair. And yet…holding him, under the rain, she has never felt so happy. Luka, her crazy boyfriend. ***Luka reflects. Happiness, what a weird thing. Happiness which arrives from where you don't expect. Happiness is a camp fire, three people and some meat to roast. *** “What the heck are those things?” “Alex!” Luka smiles. He likes Alex and his not-so-well-mannered behaviour. Just like him when he was a child. “They’re cevapcici” “Ce… what?” “Cevapcici. Meat to roast” “Ah, like spits” The spell of exotic already gone. Like spits. As if it was enough to explain what cevapcici mean to Luka. Culture, homeland, love, habitude, life. Like spits. Everything thrown away by two simple words. Like spits. ***It’s so strange. How many lives Luka has lived. How many stops and how many occasions. But he knew, he knew Vukovar was there for him. Vukovar, the start of the end, his prime trauma. Vukovar, a piece of his heart. He raises his knees, putting the feet on the bench. He encircles the knees with his arms and puts his head on them. Defence position. He’s trying to protect himself from the whole world. He’s alone, and deadly scared. All that open space, he can be assaulted from everywhere. *** “You never fall asleep by giving your back to the window” While speaking, Abby’s following Luka’s strong profile. Cheekbones, browns, nose, lips, chin. It’s a soft touch, a sweet caress. Luka’s on the verge of sleep, but he wants to answer her first. “I don’t like the idea” And he stops. His eyes are closed. She stares at his long and dark lashes. She can’t help wondering for the millionth time what Luka is hiding from her. What is scaring him so much? ***He’s nervous. The father’s looking at him with curiosity. He couldn’t help but notice that stranger staring at his wife and child. Now, he’s trying to understand if he could be a menace. Luka stands. He doesn’t want to add problems to problems. A last trace of cevapcici smell reaches his nostrils. He sways a little. He takes a deep breath. The other man’s still fixing him, his lips pursued. Luka steps away. There are no solutions.
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Post by Rach :) on Aug 12, 2007 5:56:22 GMT 10
wow i loved the update your such a talented writer!!!
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Aug 23, 2007 4:43:48 GMT 10
A/N: This story was originally written for one of my friend. In Italy we're waiting to see season 13 and she's completely spoiler free, so I couldn't put Ames in my story. But the idea of hurting physically Luka was perfect for Homecoming (Bad me...). So, I had to made a little change. Hope you like it (and I hope you've understood what I said) 10. He’s crying. At the top of his lungs. *** “It’s a good sign, isn’t it? It means he’s ok…” Abby is full of hope. It’s a little weird, though, she has never been too optimistic. Maybe it’s her new maternal side. “Well, if he go on screaming like that, we’ll send him home soon” Smiles. ***He can’t stop screaming. He goes on again and again. No one can hear him. No one can help him. He’s alone, so desperately alone. But he can blame only himself for that. He’s trying to move now, his scream less audible, nothing more than a painful moaning. *** “He looks like he’s falling asleep” “I hope so. I’ve been cuddling him for more than an hour…if only I think that Jasna used to get asleep immediately…” “You know…Marko has his own character” “Yeah, just like his father” Glances. Their lips curve slightly. Love. Affection. Comprehension. And pride. His baby. His character. Who knows when he’ll be a teenager. ***A deep breathe. Another one. He doesn't have to think at the pain. He breathes again. The pain is running through his fingers. Acute and pulsating pain through his long fingers. So perfect. And precise. He opens his eyes, his breath still harsh. His stomach is contracting, cold sweat is running down his temples. His hand is trembling. He raises it, a grimace drawn on his pale face. On his fingers, right above the phalanx, he can see the bruise left by the wooden-metal shutter of the window. The skin is bruised and swelled. Purple and blue patches are opening out like tropical flowers. What a stupid he has been. He has known that window was a danger, some days before he has already risked to get hurt. But, during that afternoon, he has leant against it without thinking and…crushed his fingers. Stupid, stupid and stupid again. He stands slowly and heads towards the bathroom. He opens the faucet with his left hand, only a little conscious at the awkwardness of the movement. Frozen water. He’s a little relieved. He looks again at the hand. It’s still throbbing. And it hurts. It really hurts. He didn’t need it. How can he find the strength to see a doctor? How can he find the strength to explain? To explain it has been an accident, of course, but maybe, that opened window and the hidden desire to feel something, even physical pain, only to forget, just for a while, the psychological and mental pain he’s suffering in Vukovar? How can he find the strength to do exams, X-rays and follow medical advices? How, when it all means he has to come back to that hospital and feeling again the weight of that cold plate? He’s still staring at his hand, looking for a rational solution. Swollen up and hurting right hand. And he’s not a lefty, oh no. *** “One day, you’re going to explain me why a doctor, a person who’s supposed to have perfect manual skills, is so unable in using his left hand”, Abby’s looking at him laughing, while he's struggling to open the closed packaging. “Are you deny that this thing is fascinating you?”, he’s openly flirting now. As if she didn't surrender months - no years - ago to him. Though she feels herself blushing. The tone he used. At that precise moment she can’t help but think at all the things he can not do with his left hand while they’re all alone in their bedroom during nights. *** He closes the faucet with the same difficulty he used to open it. He walks towards the bed. As usual, Vukovar is out there. He even begins to love its grey and brown profile. He tries slowly to bend his fingers. Bad move. And it’s really a bad move when only the simple idea of movement makes your lips grimace in anticipation. The brain telling you what you have already discovered: it’s broken, buddy, your graceful fingers momentary on holidays. See you in about forty days. What now? Luka knows what he has to do. He can even picture himself doing it, but he can’t do it. Frustration tears are soaking his cheeks. He hates himself. And now the hand, another punishment. He left them under the debris, he left his father, his family, his friends, the numerous hospitals where he worked, he left Patrique in Congo in a sense, leaving him alone in front of a evitable destiny, but above all he left Abby in Chicago. And Joe, a little innocent baby. He’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve happiness, he only deserves pain and pain and pain. He knows what he’s supposed to do, but he won’t do it. Rationality adieu. He lies down on the bed, the hand a living and pulsating appendix. He closes his eyes listening to the pain which, in waves, is penetrating his brain. There, he won’t move. Pain, everything he deserves.
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Post by Rach :) on Aug 25, 2007 2:38:28 GMT 10
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kia
Duchess of Luby
Posts: 316
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Post by kia on Oct 6, 2007 23:30:43 GMT 10
11. Sweated and humid sheets. Shifting body, full of pain. The moon outside, which is enlightening the room. Luka hasn’t sleep since he lay down a few hours earlier. He thinks and he suffers. Insomnia mixed with pain. How much time can a man resist without sleeping? *** “Wow…have I slept for centuries?” Her voice is full of enthusiasm and a soft trace of sleep. Luka raises the eyes from a still unfinished crib. “It’s not finished yet” “It’s beautiful” Yellow walls, light brown furniture, a couch. Their baby’s bedroom. “How’s insomnia?” He passes a hand through his hair. As if he wanted to make all the bad thoughts go away. He sits next to her. She's so beautiful. He doesn’t want to think at his insomnia. He puts his head on her enlarged belly. The baby is kicking. He’s not tired anymore. He feels alive. *** He gets up, finding useless trying to sleep. His head is spinning, his knees are weak. Suddenly, he’s sick again. He reaches the bathroom. Probably this is the room where he has spent most of his Vukovar time. He’s really in a bad shape. Why couldn’t he stay in Chicago with Abby, why has he decided on Vukovar? *** “Vukovar has one of the most qualified Emergency Room and I might add it is a culturally valuable town” “Culturally valuable town? Dad, have you eaten a tourist guide of Vukovar?” “What are you scared of?” Silence. “I’ve a wife, a daughter…what if did something go wrong?” The older man puts a hand on his son’s shoulder. He’s so proud of that son so ready to start living his own life. “Risk…risk is everywhere, baby. The important thing is not letting it overcome you” ***He’s seated on the floor, his back against the tub, his sweaty body shaken by shivers. Broken fingers, infection. The point is how much pain he thinks he deserves. Suffering till dying? Or stopping a little bit before? All the dues he has paid - because he has already paid - have still a meaning or are they senseless by now? *** “And I don’t give a d**n!” “But…” “Marta, shut up. I don’t even want to see him again” “You used to treat him like one of your children” “It was before he killed my daughter and my grandchildren” Viktor jumped up suddenly. In a second, Tomislav is held against the wall. “You don’t even dare to say it again…you know it isn’t true. Luka, he didn’t kill anyone” Curled on his - their - bed in the other room, Luka can’t help but listen. His father’s words are useless. Sincerely even Tomislav’s words are useless. There’s no need to specify that he’s guilty. He already knows. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. He’ll be forever guilty. Three smiles lost in the wind. Three lives, three lives he loved so much. Three, perfect number of his desperation. Three. ***Suffering till dying? And all the things he realized later? The effort he made, the fights he fought, the victories… *** Peaceful night, two bodies entangled. Soft skin brushing soft skin. Luka, lazily, is stroking her shoulder. Dark eyes are staring at him. “I love you, Luka” Luka’s hand leaves her shoulder to reach her cheek and then her full lips. He stares at her and at her shiny eyes. She loves him. Does something more amazing exist? ***Suffering till dying? Maybe it’s not the case. And maybe it is neither fair. All the things he suffered, and the things he’s going to suffer must be enough. They’ll be enough. Because Abby believed it. Abby listened to him. Abby trusted him. Suffering till dying? No, it’s not the case. Welcome back rationality. He stands carefully, trying to protect the hand. He steps towards the door. He doesn’t stop thinking.
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jehkovac
Marquise of Luby
Jessica Kovac Andrade de Oliveira
Posts: 281
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Post by jehkovac on Oct 7, 2007 13:09:11 GMT 10
This fict is very different...I like it!!! Update soon!!!
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