James Ewell Brown (fumblingtowards) wrote in britannia_ny, @ 2010-03-04 23:12:00 |
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Current mood: | sick |
Entry tags: | jim brown, laurel ogilvie, michael madison |
[open]
It's been a while since anything interesting happened to Jim. He's been living solitary, and very quiet, doing his teaching as usual (few As, as always, are ever awarded in his class). Sheila is comfortable with the town, and he's getting more comfortable with her, hardly noticing now that she comes with him, hovering under his hand.
That changes when he starts to dream again. He's thrown off-balance by it, by the feeling that he's hovering between two worlds and the battle in the heat of summer, his body fallen among a hundred other fallen bodies, his blood leaking out under the burnished sun.
Suddenly he's taking more aspirin than he should, and skipping his meds without noticing it. The real evidence of a problem comes Friday afternoon, when his head is splitting and the smell of blood is dizzying, and he lets the class out twenty minutes early, sitting in the classroom with his face in his hands until he can regain his composure.
His walk is almost staggering as he goes to his office to put his things away and start the trip home. Sheila whines unhappily at his side.