Justine Ward (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strangletheheart) wrote2012-03-22 06:21 pm
strangletheheart) wrote2012-03-22 06:21 pm
Entry tags:
[fic] Prompt: words you cannot say.
Justine reads. She reads and reads and she forgets to sleep and eat and sometimes it just makes her sick. Not the usual kind of sickness, though. Not the one that comes from her Calling. But something normal, the kind of sickness anyone will get when they’re just so run down.
And it’s not all bad. Despite the fact she runs herself down, she’s still happy. There’s probably not a time when she’s unhappy if she has a book in her lap, curled up on comfy, battered chair in her apartment. She sits by the window, warmed by the sunlight. And she’s happy. She has her stories, the words from long dead poets and writers and they speak to her. They give her hope, joy, sadness.
But most importantly, they give her words.
She can’t talk, not to anyone. She just can’t bring herself to do it and when she tries, it comes out in stutters and whispers. The years of being told she was worthless, an abomination, had broken her down. That she’ll never really be accepted by her family. That she should have stayed in the boarding school, because it was where she belonged – with the other outcasts. That she’ll spend the rest of her days unloved and medicated and unaccepted.
She’ll never be able to bring herself to tell her brother that she loves him. That she’s sorry for being who she is. That she misses her father and mother. She’ll never say how lonely she is. She’ll never say that she craves love; she craves people to be close to her. She needs human contact. She can’t be locked away in her apartment for the rest of her life.
It breaks her heart that she can’t say these things. Sometimes she feels fed up because she knows the words, she knows what she wants to say and she just can’t bring herself to speak them. She reads so much she knows a thousand ways to say them. She could speak them in another language, in the dead tongues, she knows them all and yet she still can’t do it.
And in the end, she tells herself that maybe she’s not read enough. That there’s still so much to read, to learn, to discover. There’s more than enough books out there, she just needs to find them.
So for now, Justine will keep on reading. Hoping one day it’ll be enough to finally say what she can’t.
And it’s not all bad. Despite the fact she runs herself down, she’s still happy. There’s probably not a time when she’s unhappy if she has a book in her lap, curled up on comfy, battered chair in her apartment. She sits by the window, warmed by the sunlight. And she’s happy. She has her stories, the words from long dead poets and writers and they speak to her. They give her hope, joy, sadness.
But most importantly, they give her words.
She can’t talk, not to anyone. She just can’t bring herself to do it and when she tries, it comes out in stutters and whispers. The years of being told she was worthless, an abomination, had broken her down. That she’ll never really be accepted by her family. That she should have stayed in the boarding school, because it was where she belonged – with the other outcasts. That she’ll spend the rest of her days unloved and medicated and unaccepted.
She’ll never be able to bring herself to tell her brother that she loves him. That she’s sorry for being who she is. That she misses her father and mother. She’ll never say how lonely she is. She’ll never say that she craves love; she craves people to be close to her. She needs human contact. She can’t be locked away in her apartment for the rest of her life.
It breaks her heart that she can’t say these things. Sometimes she feels fed up because she knows the words, she knows what she wants to say and she just can’t bring herself to speak them. She reads so much she knows a thousand ways to say them. She could speak them in another language, in the dead tongues, she knows them all and yet she still can’t do it.
And in the end, she tells herself that maybe she’s not read enough. That there’s still so much to read, to learn, to discover. There’s more than enough books out there, she just needs to find them.
So for now, Justine will keep on reading. Hoping one day it’ll be enough to finally say what she can’t.