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ways_infirmary2005-11-04 09:35 pm
trustntheharper.livejournal.com) wrote in ways_infirmary2005-11-04 09:35 pm
(no subject)
There is a pain -- so utter --
It swallows substance up --
Then covers the Abyss with Trance --
So Memory can step
Around -- across -- upon it --
As one within a Swoon --
Goes safely -- where an open eye --
Would drop Him -- Bone by Bone.
~Emily Dickinson, Ancient Earth Poet
***
Harper lay, eyes half-closed, starting at the white ceiling above him, counting the tiny pinprick holes in the corkboard. Counting was good. Counting things and focusing his mind on monotonous tasks, like trying to remember all the decimals he could in pi, and going over the components that made up a slipstream drive, was better than thinking.
Because if he thought, he thought about how tired he was, and about the faces and eerie lights and shapes he'd started to hallucinate, and about how he could feel things squirming through his skin, and blood slipping over his skin, and oh God, oh God, make it stop, pleasemakeitstop.
...Not thinking was good.
Two thousand, five hundred fifty-one holes. Two thousand five hundred fifty-two holes. Two thousand, five-hundred fifty three...
It swallows substance up --
Then covers the Abyss with Trance --
So Memory can step
Around -- across -- upon it --
As one within a Swoon --
Goes safely -- where an open eye --
Would drop Him -- Bone by Bone.
~Emily Dickinson, Ancient Earth Poet
***
Harper lay, eyes half-closed, starting at the white ceiling above him, counting the tiny pinprick holes in the corkboard. Counting was good. Counting things and focusing his mind on monotonous tasks, like trying to remember all the decimals he could in pi, and going over the components that made up a slipstream drive, was better than thinking.
Because if he thought, he thought about how tired he was, and about the faces and eerie lights and shapes he'd started to hallucinate, and about how he could feel things squirming through his skin, and blood slipping over his skin, and oh God, oh God, make it stop, pleasemakeitstop.
...Not thinking was good.
Two thousand, five hundred fifty-one holes. Two thousand five hundred fifty-two holes. Two thousand, five-hundred fifty three...
no subject
There is a purple Trance with her as well. (http://www.livejournal.com/community/milliways_bar/9016697.html?view=375700345#t375700345)
no subject
Or perhaps it was only Trance's head, covering the space, looking down at him, tail swishing --
"Counting them only makes the numbers go up, Harper."
no subject
She was his purple pixie and his best friend (Beka was too, but more in a best friend/big sis kind of way) and purple--well, purple was a much nicer color than red.
"That's generally how counting works, isn't it?" he pointed out, a little bit of blood dribbling out of the corners of his mouth as he spoke, and a rather feeble grin on his face.