InsaneJournal

Who: Laura Moon and OTA
What: Dealing with being half the woman she used to be
Where: The forest edge, near-ish to the gym
When: Night; sometime after 9:00pm
Rating: TBD
Status: Active


Laura Moon could no longer feel pain. It was as simple as that. She could no longer feel hunger, nor could she know fatigue. Her body kept going due to magic, and, as she'd learned the previous day, it could keep going under the most extraordinary of circumstances. Not quite half of it, at this very moment, was missing. The dripping had stopped simply because there was nothing left, no formaldehyde inside of her to keep her fresh and make her rot more slowly. The staples that had held her right arm on at the shoulder were still in her flesh, but they stuck out like jagged spikes, the last remnants of a phantom limb. Somewhere, Laura could sense her arm out there. Like the rest of her, it was still able to move, still able to function. Her body, after all, could be completely dismembered and she would still exist. It stood to reason, then, that her hand was out there, grasping idly into the nothingness that it was trapped under, following instinct. It was an arm; its job was to move. Something gray was visible inside of her, just inside the large hole that was in her abdomen from ribcage to hip, and it seemed squelchy and moist. She was lucky, though, that it wasn't as hot today. It gave her a little more borrowed time.

Feeling anguish was not feeling pain. It was more complicated, as she was learning, and her anguish, over the course of the day while she had hidden in the woods outside of the gym, had grown exponentially. When you were dead and dealt in truths, realizations came upon you in the quiet spaces where other people remembered to breathe. What she had realized was the bleak nature of her situation, courtesy of Gambit and L. As the Sex Pistols had once told her, "there's no future, no future for you." And there really was no future for Laura, not physically, and she wasn't sure how long she could hold on mentally. How could she stand and watch her own body disappear? What would she look like as a skeleton? What would being incorporeal be like? She would never touch L again, never feel warmth from him. She would watch the world, maybe be a ghost, and it would forget her even though she was standing right there.

L had already started.

The Night Watch, though, still needed to persist. She had no idea how many people were still existing, but she would guard them as best as she could in her damaged state. Mrs. Moon was a black shadow along the treeline, keeping watch over the gym. She didn't want anyone inside to see her, but she also wanted a good vantage point, and this was as good as she was getting. Leaning against a tree, she let her remaining arm hang by her side. Her eyes, both of which were open but one socket was completely empty, gazed up at the sky, and she bathed in the moonlight that she could not feel. She was pale and lovely from the left except for that hole, but the right was mauled beyond belief.

And, as she stood there, she realized that she wanted to die. Grabbing the coin from inside of her bra, she clenched her teeth and threw it on the ground as hard as she could. It made a dull plop and then it sat there, glimmering like platinum in the moonlight, mocking her with its perfectly whole shape, its purity. She would never be pure again. Time was ticking out. Would it be nobler to just give it up, to call it quits, to say that it all didn't matter anymore? It would. She was a burden, and it would only get worse. The residents might as well stick her on a post to keep the crows away from the garden; at least then she would have a purpose. Her body slid down the harsh bark of the tree, and she curled into herself. She glared at the coin, looking small, feeling hopeless and alone. And the whole while his face was in her mind, burning there like the coin. That was why she was still standing, even after tossing the object that cursed and blessed her to the ground. He was her weakness. He was her soul. And she would never leave him until the light drained from his eyes and the breath fled from his lips, even if she would never hold him again.