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rainbowfic2014-02-12 03:12 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2014-02-12 03:12 pm
Octarine #20, Yellow #8
Name: kay_brooke
Story: Unusual Florida
Colors: Octarine #20 (no matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it), Yellow #8 (yellowed paper)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 714
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Amy can't take the silence. Or the waiting.
Note: Yet another rewrite. Don't worry, I'm about done with these. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Yellow.
There was no pattern to the floor, no matter how hard she looked, no matter how long she stared. The gray speckles scattered throughout the dirty white tiles would not arrange themselves into any kind of order, just another spot of chaos when everything else had fallen apart, too.
She was crying again. Amy ducked her head, focusing on the beige vinyl beneath her, and then on nothing as the tears blurred her vision. She blinked rapidly and wiped them away. The tissue she clutched in her left hand had long ago been soaked and worn to tatters, and the box with fresh ones was across the room. Standing up to get one seemed too much effort. It would draw too much attention.
The only sound was the steady beeping that echoed in her ears.
Then, a sniffle. Horrified, realizing the sound had come from her, she shut her eyes, prayed no one would say anything.
No such luck. A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up into her aunt's face.
"Do you need anything, sweetie?" she asked, her voice low as if they were all in church. She held out her hand, brandishing a fresh tissue. "Here."
"I don't need anything," said Amy, shrugging away from her aunt's hand. She took the tissue, though. It felt soft in her hand and slightly oily. She crushed it in her palm, smelling the fragrance that welled up from it. It wasn't enough to overpower the smell of antiseptic and something else, something darker. Amy lowered her eyes again.
Her aunt seemed to take the hint and walked away. Amy looked up, through her eyelashes, at what she had avoided for a long time now. The figure in the bed didn't move. She wasn't sure if she had expected it to. She didn't know if she was supposed to wish that or not. She cast a quick glance around the room: her aunt, who had retired to one of the corners, clutching her own tissue, her gaze fixed on the bed. Her father, standing in the doorway to the room, halfway in and halfway out and glancing into the hallway every few seconds as if he was looking for an escape route. Amy knew he was merely waiting for a doctor, had been waiting in that same spot for hours even though he had been told the doctor would be unlikely to see them for a long time.
But they wouldn't leave until her dad had talked to the doctor.
Her mom was in another corner, holding Jacob, who had fallen asleep against her shoulder, his mouth open and a string of drool leaking out onto her mom's sweater. Neither James nor Cassie were there; both had gone off to the kid's area of the waiting room with her uncle. Amy hadn't gone; her tenth birthday was only two weeks away and she was too old for toys, and too aware to lose herself in them.
Unable to stand it any longer, she stood up and crossed the room to her dad, refusing to meet the questioning eyes of her aunt and mom. "How long until the doctor gets here?" she asked her dad. She tried to do it quietly, copying the soft tones her aunt had taken only moments earlier, but she must not have succeeded because she noticed her mom sigh and hug Jacob a little closer to her.
"I don't know," said her dad, running a hand through his hair. He had done this many times already, and tufts of it were standing up at odd angles. It struck Amy suddenly how much older her dad looked. She had never noticed those wrinkles around his eyes before. He looked more like Grandpa. Amy's eyes drifted unconsciously toward the bed.
"Is he going to die?" she asked.
"I don't know until the doctor talks to us," said her dad. His attention was back on the hallway, his daughter all but forgotten.
"Okay," Amy whispered. She returned to her seat by the window—the sun had gone down long ago and she couldn't see anything except the yellow lights of the parking lot, but she had been sitting there all along and there was no other place for her—and hoped the doctor would come quickly.
kay_brookeStory: Unusual Florida
Colors: Octarine #20 (no matter how fast light travels it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it), Yellow #8 (yellowed paper)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas
Word Count: 714
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply
Summary: Amy can't take the silence. Or the waiting.
Note: Yet another rewrite. Don't worry, I'm about done with these. Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM. Last Yellow.
There was no pattern to the floor, no matter how hard she looked, no matter how long she stared. The gray speckles scattered throughout the dirty white tiles would not arrange themselves into any kind of order, just another spot of chaos when everything else had fallen apart, too.
She was crying again. Amy ducked her head, focusing on the beige vinyl beneath her, and then on nothing as the tears blurred her vision. She blinked rapidly and wiped them away. The tissue she clutched in her left hand had long ago been soaked and worn to tatters, and the box with fresh ones was across the room. Standing up to get one seemed too much effort. It would draw too much attention.
The only sound was the steady beeping that echoed in her ears.
Then, a sniffle. Horrified, realizing the sound had come from her, she shut her eyes, prayed no one would say anything.
No such luck. A hand touched her shoulder and she looked up into her aunt's face.
"Do you need anything, sweetie?" she asked, her voice low as if they were all in church. She held out her hand, brandishing a fresh tissue. "Here."
"I don't need anything," said Amy, shrugging away from her aunt's hand. She took the tissue, though. It felt soft in her hand and slightly oily. She crushed it in her palm, smelling the fragrance that welled up from it. It wasn't enough to overpower the smell of antiseptic and something else, something darker. Amy lowered her eyes again.
Her aunt seemed to take the hint and walked away. Amy looked up, through her eyelashes, at what she had avoided for a long time now. The figure in the bed didn't move. She wasn't sure if she had expected it to. She didn't know if she was supposed to wish that or not. She cast a quick glance around the room: her aunt, who had retired to one of the corners, clutching her own tissue, her gaze fixed on the bed. Her father, standing in the doorway to the room, halfway in and halfway out and glancing into the hallway every few seconds as if he was looking for an escape route. Amy knew he was merely waiting for a doctor, had been waiting in that same spot for hours even though he had been told the doctor would be unlikely to see them for a long time.
But they wouldn't leave until her dad had talked to the doctor.
Her mom was in another corner, holding Jacob, who had fallen asleep against her shoulder, his mouth open and a string of drool leaking out onto her mom's sweater. Neither James nor Cassie were there; both had gone off to the kid's area of the waiting room with her uncle. Amy hadn't gone; her tenth birthday was only two weeks away and she was too old for toys, and too aware to lose herself in them.
Unable to stand it any longer, she stood up and crossed the room to her dad, refusing to meet the questioning eyes of her aunt and mom. "How long until the doctor gets here?" she asked her dad. She tried to do it quietly, copying the soft tones her aunt had taken only moments earlier, but she must not have succeeded because she noticed her mom sigh and hug Jacob a little closer to her.
"I don't know," said her dad, running a hand through his hair. He had done this many times already, and tufts of it were standing up at odd angles. It struck Amy suddenly how much older her dad looked. She had never noticed those wrinkles around his eyes before. He looked more like Grandpa. Amy's eyes drifted unconsciously toward the bed.
"Is he going to die?" she asked.
"I don't know until the doctor talks to us," said her dad. His attention was back on the hallway, his daughter all but forgotten.
"Okay," Amy whispered. She returned to her seat by the window—the sun had gone down long ago and she couldn't see anything except the yellow lights of the parking lot, but she had been sitting there all along and there was no other place for her—and hoped the doctor would come quickly.
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Thanks for reading!
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