Lucy Carrigan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
radicalize) wrote2007-11-07 09:23 pm
radicalize) wrote2007-11-07 09:23 pm
Entry tags:
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see.
Things ended. It was the natural course of life, she knew that; people died, they moved on, the world changed, and sooner or later, even whatever you came to depend on the most would fall through or just cease to exist. She'd experienced that plenty in her relatively short life, but not, it would seem, enough to expect it.
And so, three days after that surreal version of a Halloween, Lucy was in front of her hut, sort of not really pacing (she'd deny it, if asked, but the paths she walked were close enough to it that she might as well have been). Where losing Max had been tragic - a tragedy that still hadn't faded, judging by the dog tag that still hung around her neck, below her shirt - losing Daniel had been numbing, and now there was Jude, and she couldn't quite make sense of that. It was hard to be sad, really, when she'd stumbled into some random bus (after running through the jungle, running for her life, and all she'd been able to think about, every step, was Max; he died that way, she thought, being shot at by someone who'd been called an "enemy" for no good reason; he'd been killed and she, somehow, had made it) to find Jude with his head in some girl's lap, just weeks after he'd accused her of being unfaithful. She couldn't regret it, couldn't feel too bad about it, especially not when it had been so much her desicion - "You don't owe me anything," she'd protested, when he'd tried to tell her nothing had happened, "we aren't together anymore." Hardly clean and simple, but at least it was an official end to things. Still, whether she'd been the one to do it or not, that didn't stop it from feeling strange - maybe she'd been right, maybe all they'd done was play house for a while and it was all comparatively meaningless and she'd find someone else, like she'd been told, but even after all those months of growing apart and the fighting they'd done both home and here, part of her still missed him (more of an idea of him, who she'd wanted him to be, not who he really was, in the long run). She'd made the right desicion, that was undoubtable, and yet -
She'd made the right desicion, and that was what mattered. One hand pressed gently to her chest, where the dog tag rested, she stopped walking to lean against the wall of her hut, not wanting yet to go inside. This was fine, she told herself, taking in one deep breath. It's gonna be alright.
[Dated to November 3rd, and locked to Veronica.]
And so, three days after that surreal version of a Halloween, Lucy was in front of her hut, sort of not really pacing (she'd deny it, if asked, but the paths she walked were close enough to it that she might as well have been). Where losing Max had been tragic - a tragedy that still hadn't faded, judging by the dog tag that still hung around her neck, below her shirt - losing Daniel had been numbing, and now there was Jude, and she couldn't quite make sense of that. It was hard to be sad, really, when she'd stumbled into some random bus (after running through the jungle, running for her life, and all she'd been able to think about, every step, was Max; he died that way, she thought, being shot at by someone who'd been called an "enemy" for no good reason; he'd been killed and she, somehow, had made it) to find Jude with his head in some girl's lap, just weeks after he'd accused her of being unfaithful. She couldn't regret it, couldn't feel too bad about it, especially not when it had been so much her desicion - "You don't owe me anything," she'd protested, when he'd tried to tell her nothing had happened, "we aren't together anymore." Hardly clean and simple, but at least it was an official end to things. Still, whether she'd been the one to do it or not, that didn't stop it from feeling strange - maybe she'd been right, maybe all they'd done was play house for a while and it was all comparatively meaningless and she'd find someone else, like she'd been told, but even after all those months of growing apart and the fighting they'd done both home and here, part of her still missed him (more of an idea of him, who she'd wanted him to be, not who he really was, in the long run). She'd made the right desicion, that was undoubtable, and yet -
She'd made the right desicion, and that was what mattered. One hand pressed gently to her chest, where the dog tag rested, she stopped walking to lean against the wall of her hut, not wanting yet to go inside. This was fine, she told herself, taking in one deep breath. It's gonna be alright.
[Dated to November 3rd, and locked to Veronica.]