Saraswati Shah (cobratalk) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-06 12:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! narrative, ! plot: kidnapping, saraswati shah |
WHO: Saraswati Shah.
WHAT: Sara's emotional state is really fragile right now.
WHEN: Backdated to whenever the Europe team was on the plane back to IVI.
WHERE: Plane to IVI.
WARNINGS: None. Mentions of PTSD?
STATUS: Complete.
Tea or coffee? Milk and sugar? Tea or coffee? Milk and sugar? These are the words Sara has been chanting, nearly nonstop, since she arrived in Europe. She did not want to go, not really; what she wanted to do was curl up in a bed, warm and sheltered and safe, and never get up again. But what she wanted was insignificant in the face of such horror and tragedy -- and had her father not taught her to be brave above all else? To care for others, to help those who could not help themselves? It is how she's distracted herself the past week (or has it been two weeks? all the secondsminutesdays have blended together, an inextractable mix of tea-or-coffee, milk-and-sugar, pouring pouring pouring). It is how she's held herself together. Sara isn't scared. She isn't even worried, in truth, although she plays at it well, says the words she's supposed to say (i'm so very sorry, i hope they're okay, thank god they're alive). Sara isn't -- anything. Inside, she feels nothing but a deadened sense of resignation, as if her body is sighing, sighing in defeat. She does not care, though she pretends to. She does not feel, though she tries. The only time Sara feels anything is in the dead of the night when she wakes up in a cold sweat, her nightmares seeping into the blackened room she sleeps in. Gunfire, blood, a shadowed face closing in on her, and then nothing. Nothing at all. It is the same every time. Gunfire, blood, shadow. Nothing. She's always unsure, when she awakes, whether her nightmares are real, whether she's truly safe. But reality inevitably sets in, and then it is back to nothing, nothing but tea-or-coffee, milk-and-sugar, pouring, pouring, pouring. Now what? she thinks, her head resting on the cool glass of the airplane window. There is no more tea to pour, no more sugar to spoon (one lump or two?). And Sara is tired, tired of pretending to care and feel. Tired of shouldering the burdens of others, when she cannot even shoulder her own. So she pulls the blanket up, warm and cozy and above all safe, curling into it. And just as sleep is about to overtake her, a flight attendant stops at her row, pushing her tiny metallic cart. She smiles, tilting her head kindly. "Tea or coffee?" she asks. "Milk and sugar?" Sara does not care. She will leave that to someone else, now. |