paradisa | 045 red letters

[If anyone were to venture by the duck pond today they would rather see a rather unusual sight. The surface of the pond is dotted with origami cranes of all different sizes. If one tries to get a better look they may notice that the pages are all covered with drawings. It's a bit difficult to tell what they were with all the folds but there's a bookcase on one wing and a neck reveals a glass pedestal.

Nora lays on the grass nearby staring up at the clouds. There's an open sketchbook by her side, missing most of its pages. If the remnants of torn paper are any indication the torn pages are floating nearby. She sighs, watching the clouds floating overhead. The Doctor went home. Now Del. She never even got a chance to give the Doctor her planned redesign for his TARDIS. And now she never would. it's easy to be angry or depressed but what's the point? That's what it wants, right? Well she's not going to give it the satisfaction. The Doctor wouldn't have wanted her to. Slowly she starts dictating, slowly reciting lines that have been floating around her mind all day...]

Seasons pass
Days slipping away
In the revolving door masquerading as a castle
One, three, a hundred, a thousand?
No knowing how many days til you're thrown back
Like a spent star falling from the heavens
So another can take its place

Terror, confusion, pain, ennui
An all you can eat buffet of emotional turmoil
With an apathetic cherry on top
Once one dish empties
Another slides in to fill its place
A never ending cycle of gluttony and greed
Parading before our slothful eyes
But pride goes before a fall
All it needs is one last push
One breath to send the pieces toppling to the floor

I can hear it
Whispering in the dark corners of my mind
Peering into my soul
My very being
Pulling me apart bit by bit
Trying to find which string to pull
The one string to unravel everything
And leave me 'baa'ing with the rest of the sheep
A quivering mass of regret and pain
Broken like a long forgotten doll
Left in the corner since christmas

The more it tries
The louder I'll scream
Raising my voice above the whispers
Shoving back harder with each push
One cog in a meaningless system
Refusing to spin
And so I'll sit
Rusted
Trying to turn in the wrong direction
Fighting against the flow of movement...

[her voice trails off, unsure where to go from there. That's the problem with dictating poetry, you can't go back and edit or rewrite. Oh well. It can stay unfinished. Almost fitting in a way. She sits up and picks up the sketchbook, looking at the drawing on the top page - concentric spirals she'd planned for the walls of the TARDIS - she pauses for a moment before tossing the whole book into the water with a satisfying SPLOOSH. the surface ripples, making the cranes bob and bump into one another.

Time marches on.

She smiles.]

((OOC: Open for journal or in person at the duck pond.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Yeah. I shouldn't have let it bother me, but it's hard not to let it, especially when it comes to your parents.

Yeah... fuck I can't even imagine what that must've been like.

Yeah...

My mother was supportive about it, but she wasn't nearly as vocal as he was about the whole thing. I guess it was easier to run away from it and hope I could come back stronger.