skipped3rdgrade (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} skipped3rdgrade) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} vas_captio_rpg,@ 2009-06-12 10:58:00 |
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| Entry tags: | !complete, day 10, esmerelda weatherwax, lexie grey, location: gym, open |
Who: Lexie and OTA
What: Aftershocks
Where: The Gym
When: 11:28 PM, Day 10
Rating: TBD.
Status: On Hold: Character Hiatus.
The room around her was unrecognizable, at least not as a gym anyway. The floor had split in places, and in others the wood jutted up like jagged teeth. There were torches burning all around and people lying on cots. Not just people, patients. Lexie Grey happened to be one of them.
There were quiet and not so quiet coughs and moans. There were people whispering and some just talking to themselves. Some people were scribbling in their journals. Lexie wanted to do something. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to use her training and proficiency and she wanted to be of use. Yet, there she sat, knees pulled up to her chest in the far corner of the room, just watching.
She had one good arm. Just one. That meant one good hand. That meant she couldn’t stitch or inject or put on a dressing. She couldn’t tie knots or set bones or pop joints into place. All she could manage was to sit and stare, her blinks coming slow, if at all. Though, her mind was far from quiet despite her outward appearance.
She was stuck in a place where people conjured up experiments. Experiments aimed at hurting people. Really hurting people. Someone had died today, she’d heard. It was whispered quietly here and there. She didn’t know who it was. She didn’t want to know who it was. She couldn’t know who it was. No, she needed to focus.
Clavicle dislocated at the distal end, scapula disjointed from ligament, acute shoulder separation. She didn’t need to look at it again. There was a tell tale bulge where the bone jutted out and the tendons failed to keep it in place. When she breathed too hard her sternocledomastoid contracted and it made her feel like she was pulling the whole of her left shoulder out of place. When she walked it was worse.
Of course, there were people worse off than her. She’d heard about a guy getting impaled on a shovel, and someone who’d broken both their arms. There were a multitude of ankle fractures and cuts and scrapes. She’d gotten off light, hadn’t she? She hadn’t died.
Then her brain continued down it’s slippery slope. She hadn’t been as hurt as anyone else. No, there were people who could die. Had died. Yet, here she was, falling into the realm of self pity. That made her feel even worse.
Snap out of it, Lexie
There were quiet and not so quiet coughs and moans. There were people whispering and some just talking to themselves. Some people were scribbling in their journals. Lexie wanted to do something. She wanted to be a doctor. She wanted to use her training and proficiency and she wanted to be of use. Yet, there she sat, knees pulled up to her chest in the far corner of the room, just watching.
She had one good arm. Just one. That meant one good hand. That meant she couldn’t stitch or inject or put on a dressing. She couldn’t tie knots or set bones or pop joints into place. All she could manage was to sit and stare, her blinks coming slow, if at all. Though, her mind was far from quiet despite her outward appearance.
She was stuck in a place where people conjured up experiments. Experiments aimed at hurting people. Really hurting people. Someone had died today, she’d heard. It was whispered quietly here and there. She didn’t know who it was. She didn’t want to know who it was. She couldn’t know who it was. No, she needed to focus.
Clavicle dislocated at the distal end, scapula disjointed from ligament, acute shoulder separation. She didn’t need to look at it again. There was a tell tale bulge where the bone jutted out and the tendons failed to keep it in place. When she breathed too hard her sternocledomastoid contracted and it made her feel like she was pulling the whole of her left shoulder out of place. When she walked it was worse.
Of course, there were people worse off than her. She’d heard about a guy getting impaled on a shovel, and someone who’d broken both their arms. There were a multitude of ankle fractures and cuts and scrapes. She’d gotten off light, hadn’t she? She hadn’t died.
Then her brain continued down it’s slippery slope. She hadn’t been as hurt as anyone else. No, there were people who could die. Had died. Yet, here she was, falling into the realm of self pity. That made her feel even worse.
Snap out of it, Lexie