[closed to make room for self-deprecation and angst. :3]
Rain. Yomi had preferred listening to the soft pounding of the rain than her nurse’s encouragements to get out of bed.
Getting out of bed had not seemed worth it that morning. Day time meant mingling with other prisoners. Day time meant showing her face. The prospect of having to leave her room in full view of the other prisoners and endure the usual activities had made her nervous, there was no denying it. But her wounds were healing quickly enough that hiding in her cell wasn’t an option any more, and her nurse had been quite adamant that she start exercising her body.
“And the first step’s getting some fresh air!” she’d said.
Yomi had, unsurprisingly, said nothing to this. There was no winning, one way or the other. Either she resisted and paid the price, or she gave in to the inevitable and rejoined the prisoner population. Both options were unpleasant.
So it was that Yomi ended up being led into the cafeteria for brunch in reluctant silence. Her legs felt rickety, but not necessarily because of her injuries. Better if she’d gotten the chance to heal herself (and wipe the slate clean), except another unsurprising failure had taken that option away from her.
She sat, and after a moment, pushed her tray aside. Not even dying could instil an appetite in her, it seemed.
no subject
Rain. Yomi had preferred listening to the soft pounding of the rain than her nurse’s encouragements to get out of bed.
Getting out of bed had not seemed worth it that morning. Day time meant mingling with other prisoners. Day time meant showing her face. The prospect of having to leave her room in full view of the other prisoners and endure the usual activities had made her nervous, there was no denying it. But her wounds were healing quickly enough that hiding in her cell wasn’t an option any more, and her nurse had been quite adamant that she start exercising her body.
“And the first step’s getting some fresh air!” she’d said.
Yomi had, unsurprisingly, said nothing to this. There was no winning, one way or the other. Either she resisted and paid the price, or she gave in to the inevitable and rejoined the prisoner population. Both options were unpleasant.
So it was that Yomi ended up being led into the cafeteria for brunch in reluctant silence. Her legs felt rickety, but not necessarily because of her injuries. Better if she’d gotten the chance to heal herself (and wipe the slate clean), except another unsurprising failure had taken that option away from her.
She sat, and after a moment, pushed her tray aside. Not even dying could instil an appetite in her, it seemed.