Astronought
05-21-2009, 05:00 AM
I'm really not sure about this. It's just going to be a short story, and it's not properly edited yet or anything. Just read and see what you think.
The bird she kept in her room was tweeting in anticipation of the nurse arriving, as usual, at precisely 9.15. Her eyes were fixed on the door from 9:12 onwards, just to make sure that she didn't miss any possible appearances from the young lady whose job it was to bathe her and rewrap her bandages. It was a given that Janet would be awake this early, because she wasn't the best sleeper. The nurse knew this. They had observed her sleeping patterns and found that after some fitful attempts at turning over and rolling herself across the bed, she finally found sleep at around about 23:00. The cold mechanics of 24 hour time schedules had finally worked it's way into Janet's head; after being in hospital for three or four months now her mind had adjusted to their ways of doing things, and she had adopted them as her own. Of course "doing things" is an exaggeration, at least in any physical sense. Since she had been brought in after experiencing an extremely severe head trauma (a shotgun blast to the face) it was impossible for her to breathe on her own, let alone move at all. After five or possibly six operations she could finally breathe on her own, and her eyes and brain had been repaired enough to allow her to see a little (enough to keep a watch on the doorway). They discovered via CCTV that she could move in bed. This was three weeks after the third operation, and was completely unexpected. Her face at this stage resembled a giant fleshy donut, as gruesome as that sounds. That remark was enough to get a young doctor demoted to the toilet shift for two weeks - enough to disillusion anyone with the medical profession.
She experienced no physical pain from her wound, and had no memory of the actual attack, but she is fully aware of how she got here. She remembers him holding a shotgun to his own head, and then shouting something. Then he shot Ryan, and at that stage she passed out. When she awoke she was lying in a hospital bed, four weeks after the attack, with a giant hole in her face. Her father had been to visit her, but after his reports back her mother decided it would be best not to come just yet.
Her appearance was jarring for someone not prepared for these type of injuries. Facial injuries carry the weight of personal vanity to them, so they somehow seem worse. When there is a wound on someone's back or arm it still looks painful but facial injuries seem a lot worse because the head is much smaller and more delicately framed than the rest of the body. Any wound seems bigger when it is a wound on the face.
She had no nose or cheeks to speak of. She had one eye pulled tightly inwards at the middle, near the beginning stump of where the nose should be but where there is now a small lump, where the skin has been surgically pulled over the last remaining stub of bone where her nose would be. Her other eye looks fine, which only adds to the overall grotesqueness of the rest of her face. Her teeth were shattered, and only some jagged broken glass points remain in her bottom jaw. Her top gum is gone. She can blink, and move her bottom jaw, but all other facial movement is impossible for her. Her muscles are dead, or still in shock.
The only visitor she had on a regular basis were her sisters, Leanne and Sarah. They both, of course, had perfect marriages. Leanne's husband was a good looking primary school teacher, and Sarah's husband was training to be a helicopter pilot. Neither of them had any conception of just how bad Janet's marriage had got in the year and a half it had been since she had last seen either of them. He tended to stop all incoming phone calls when they were for her, and didn't allow visitors for her at all.
She had no idea where the shotgun came from; she didn't even think it was possible to get them in this country. She found her mind wandering when her sisters were talking about her, thinking she couldn't hear them. Her mind wandered back to a time when she had a face again, how much she hated it. She hated her big chubby cheeks, and the way her nose would go red when she was hot. She wouldn't mind that so much now. She could see the little imperfections on her sisters' faces; the small patches of dry skin, or where Leanne hadn't applied her mascara properly and it was slightly clumped at the end of the eyelash. All these little things made her feel even worse and in the end it seemed like she couldn't even look at her sisters. Fortunately her tear ducts were destroyed in the blast.
The nurse arrived again and Janet found that she couldn't look at her either. It seemed everybody else had become more beautiful through the filter of her own wound.
She felt many things, not that it was noticeable to anyone sitting next to her. She felt jealousy to everyone visiting her, who did not appreciate what they had which had been taken away from her. She felt an intense hatred towards the nurse who insisted on coming in and interrupting her sleep. She didn't want visitors anymore, not the visitors she'd had previously anyway. She wanted her granddad back. Perhaps it's typical to idealise people you know won't be able to visit, and she was aware of this, but she still just wanted his big wrinkly face against hers. She knew he wouldn't mind how she looked, not at all.
The nurse knocked again, and entered. Janet could never understand why she knocked; it's not like she could even do anything else than just lie there, prone, a part of the mattress. He never knocked when he came into a room where she was, even the bathroom. He started to ban her locking the door, as he became increasingly more concerned of her fidelity towards him. He didn't want her to be doing anything he didn't know about. In a way, he was just caring. In retrospect, he was in many ways a beautiful man. He was fantastic in bed, and she had been pretty rude to him in the days leading up to the accident. Maybe it's not so bad after all? Now men wouldn't look at Janet twice, perhaps that's better. Perhaps he was doing her a favour, so now she wouldn't have to go to all the trouble of finding someone else and seducing them. He'd made her life easier!
The nurse wasn't making anything easier. She always felt worse after she had arrived, and she did not like her condescending manner. She was so beautiful, with her shining blonde hair and her little mole on her lip, that perfect imperfection. She hated her tight body through the nurse's uniform, and her calf muscles. She hated her curls. She hated her watch, and her perfume. He would never stand for some whore looking after her.
The bird she kept in her room was tweeting in anticipation of the nurse arriving, as usual, at precisely 9.15. Her eyes were fixed on the door from 9:12 onwards, just to make sure that she didn't miss any possible appearances from the young lady whose job it was to bathe her and rewrap her bandages. It was a given that Janet would be awake this early, because she wasn't the best sleeper. The nurse knew this. They had observed her sleeping patterns and found that after some fitful attempts at turning over and rolling herself across the bed, she finally found sleep at around about 23:00. The cold mechanics of 24 hour time schedules had finally worked it's way into Janet's head; after being in hospital for three or four months now her mind had adjusted to their ways of doing things, and she had adopted them as her own. Of course "doing things" is an exaggeration, at least in any physical sense. Since she had been brought in after experiencing an extremely severe head trauma (a shotgun blast to the face) it was impossible for her to breathe on her own, let alone move at all. After five or possibly six operations she could finally breathe on her own, and her eyes and brain had been repaired enough to allow her to see a little (enough to keep a watch on the doorway). They discovered via CCTV that she could move in bed. This was three weeks after the third operation, and was completely unexpected. Her face at this stage resembled a giant fleshy donut, as gruesome as that sounds. That remark was enough to get a young doctor demoted to the toilet shift for two weeks - enough to disillusion anyone with the medical profession.
She experienced no physical pain from her wound, and had no memory of the actual attack, but she is fully aware of how she got here. She remembers him holding a shotgun to his own head, and then shouting something. Then he shot Ryan, and at that stage she passed out. When she awoke she was lying in a hospital bed, four weeks after the attack, with a giant hole in her face. Her father had been to visit her, but after his reports back her mother decided it would be best not to come just yet.
Her appearance was jarring for someone not prepared for these type of injuries. Facial injuries carry the weight of personal vanity to them, so they somehow seem worse. When there is a wound on someone's back or arm it still looks painful but facial injuries seem a lot worse because the head is much smaller and more delicately framed than the rest of the body. Any wound seems bigger when it is a wound on the face.
She had no nose or cheeks to speak of. She had one eye pulled tightly inwards at the middle, near the beginning stump of where the nose should be but where there is now a small lump, where the skin has been surgically pulled over the last remaining stub of bone where her nose would be. Her other eye looks fine, which only adds to the overall grotesqueness of the rest of her face. Her teeth were shattered, and only some jagged broken glass points remain in her bottom jaw. Her top gum is gone. She can blink, and move her bottom jaw, but all other facial movement is impossible for her. Her muscles are dead, or still in shock.
The only visitor she had on a regular basis were her sisters, Leanne and Sarah. They both, of course, had perfect marriages. Leanne's husband was a good looking primary school teacher, and Sarah's husband was training to be a helicopter pilot. Neither of them had any conception of just how bad Janet's marriage had got in the year and a half it had been since she had last seen either of them. He tended to stop all incoming phone calls when they were for her, and didn't allow visitors for her at all.
She had no idea where the shotgun came from; she didn't even think it was possible to get them in this country. She found her mind wandering when her sisters were talking about her, thinking she couldn't hear them. Her mind wandered back to a time when she had a face again, how much she hated it. She hated her big chubby cheeks, and the way her nose would go red when she was hot. She wouldn't mind that so much now. She could see the little imperfections on her sisters' faces; the small patches of dry skin, or where Leanne hadn't applied her mascara properly and it was slightly clumped at the end of the eyelash. All these little things made her feel even worse and in the end it seemed like she couldn't even look at her sisters. Fortunately her tear ducts were destroyed in the blast.
The nurse arrived again and Janet found that she couldn't look at her either. It seemed everybody else had become more beautiful through the filter of her own wound.
She felt many things, not that it was noticeable to anyone sitting next to her. She felt jealousy to everyone visiting her, who did not appreciate what they had which had been taken away from her. She felt an intense hatred towards the nurse who insisted on coming in and interrupting her sleep. She didn't want visitors anymore, not the visitors she'd had previously anyway. She wanted her granddad back. Perhaps it's typical to idealise people you know won't be able to visit, and she was aware of this, but she still just wanted his big wrinkly face against hers. She knew he wouldn't mind how she looked, not at all.
The nurse knocked again, and entered. Janet could never understand why she knocked; it's not like she could even do anything else than just lie there, prone, a part of the mattress. He never knocked when he came into a room where she was, even the bathroom. He started to ban her locking the door, as he became increasingly more concerned of her fidelity towards him. He didn't want her to be doing anything he didn't know about. In a way, he was just caring. In retrospect, he was in many ways a beautiful man. He was fantastic in bed, and she had been pretty rude to him in the days leading up to the accident. Maybe it's not so bad after all? Now men wouldn't look at Janet twice, perhaps that's better. Perhaps he was doing her a favour, so now she wouldn't have to go to all the trouble of finding someone else and seducing them. He'd made her life easier!
The nurse wasn't making anything easier. She always felt worse after she had arrived, and she did not like her condescending manner. She was so beautiful, with her shining blonde hair and her little mole on her lip, that perfect imperfection. She hated her tight body through the nurse's uniform, and her calf muscles. She hated her curls. She hated her watch, and her perfume. He would never stand for some whore looking after her.