Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Garden of Light

We're in Seattle. Got a hotel room, just for the night. Warm food, new clothes. A chance to shave. Showers. Trying to find a way to cut food, to wash and dress myself, all that crap, with just the one arm. It certainly limits your clothing options.

Everybody winces whenever they see me. I read once that the human brain will accept anything as the "right" way for a living thing to look, so long as it's symmetrical. And I'm there, all one-armed, looking...off. They try and hide it, bless 'em.

I don't know how I feel about my arm being taken from me. I know I should focus my hate on the big guy, but it's more diffuse than that. In my idle moments, when I'm stewing in rancor, I find my acrimony resting on Benjamin, who performed the operation, or on Natalie, who okayed it. Who can't even look at me if she can help it. I'm not her friend anymore. I'm not a potential boyfriend for her anymore. I'm a constant reminder of what happened.

The hotel we're staying in has two beds, and I just want to crawl into mine and hide under the sheets so no-one can see me.

No signs of anything nasty just yet though. No proxies, and no big guest star cameos.

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