š¹šøš»š»'šĀ šš“ššøš»šøš“š½š²š“Ā šøšĀ šš½š¼š°šš²š·š“š³, astoundingĀ bothĀ scientistsĀ andĀ conspiratorsĀ alike.Ā she'sĀ enduredĀ theĀ inconceivableĀ withoutĀ soĀ muchĀ asĀ aĀ whimper,Ā allĀ theĀ whileĀ holdingĀ ontoĀ anĀ exhaustedĀ smile.Ā selfless,Ā evenĀ inĀ aĀ stateĀ ofĀ completeĀ turmoil,Ā defiantlyĀ leaningĀ forwardĀ inĀ aĀ creakyĀ hospitalĀ bedĀ that'sĀ seenĀ betterĀ days.Ā isĀ thisĀ theĀ wayĀ toĀ treatĀ aĀ belovedĀ friendĀ who'sĀ returnedĀ fromĀ anĀ unspeakableĀ nightmare?Ā forcedĀ intoĀ anĀ unfamiliarĀ roomĀ withĀ blindingĀ fluorescentĀ lights,Ā theĀ starkĀ whiteĀ wallsĀ entirelyĀ š±š“šš“šµšĀ ofĀ photographs,Ā andĀ sicklyĀ sweetĀ smellsĀ ofĀ unappetizingĀ foodĀ remainĀ stagnantĀ inĀ theĀ air.Ā it'sĀ aĀ stenchĀ thatĀ willĀ neverĀ leave,Ā muchĀ likeĀ theĀ tormentĀ that'sĀ stuckĀ toĀ themĀ forever,Ā onlyĀ toĀ expireĀ withĀ theirĀ lastĀ dyingĀ breaths.
rebeccaĀ peersĀ overĀ theĀ mattressĀ withĀ aĀ reluctantĀ nod,Ā carefullyĀ reachingĀ outĀ toĀ snagĀ theĀ chosenĀ film,Ā eyeingĀ theĀ synopsisĀ andĀ coverĀ artĀ onĀ theĀ backĀ withĀ aĀ lightĀ simper.Ā there'sĀ aĀ littleĀ girlĀ walkingĀ nextĀ toĀ theĀ assassinĀ withĀ anĀ tooĀ familiarĀ haircut.Ā āĀ sheĀ remindsĀ meĀ aĀ bitĀ ofĀ you.Ā i'veĀ notĀ seenĀ thisĀ movieĀ sinceĀ Ā āÆĀ ābeforeĀ sheĀ movedĀ toĀ raccoonĀ city,Ā whenĀ sheĀ wasĀ onlyĀ fourteenĀ andĀ inĀ betweenĀ studies,Ā sittingĀ idlyĀ inĀ theĀ lavishĀ livingĀ roomĀ toĀ passĀ theĀ time,Ā catchingĀ aĀ glimpseĀ ofĀ popĀ cultureĀ inĀ š°š²ššøš¾š½,Ā eyesĀ wide,Ā unableĀ toĀ pryĀ themselvesĀ fromĀ theĀ screen.Ā aloneĀ toĀ herĀ thoughts,Ā andĀ ableĀ toĀ breatheĀ easyĀ withoutĀ herĀ father'sĀ domineeringĀ shadowĀ takingĀ holdĀ ofĀ everythingĀ inĀ hisĀ path.Ā insteadĀ itĀ wasĀ lĆ©on,Ā theĀ hiredĀ hitmanĀ withĀ aĀ gruffĀ voiceĀ bellowingĀ outĀ iconicĀ linesĀ wellĀ deservingĀ ofĀ anĀ oscar.Ā āĀ it'sĀ beenĀ aĀ whileā¦āĀ theĀ keepĀ caseĀ isĀ stillĀ wrappedĀ inĀ aĀ fineĀ layerĀ ofĀ plastic.Ā unopened,Ā asĀ ifĀ itĀ wereĀ waitingĀ onĀ someoneĀ inĀ particular.Ā thatĀ someoneĀ isĀ rightĀ inĀ frontĀ ofĀ her,Ā callingĀ theĀ shotsĀ asĀ usual,Ā andĀ sheĀ doesn'tĀ mindĀ oneĀ bit.Ā inĀ fact,Ā sheĀ welcomesĀ itĀ withĀ aĀ softĀ giggleĀ andĀ reminderĀ ofĀ herĀ own.
āĀ nousĀ pouvonsĀ regarderĀ enĀ franƧaisĀ siĀ vousĀ leĀ souhaitez!Ā āĀ sheĀ grins,Ā slicingĀ theĀ plasticĀ withĀ herĀ pocketĀ knifeĀ thenĀ clickingĀ openĀ theĀ case.Ā āĀ iĀ amĀ fluentĀ inĀ sevenĀ languages,Ā youĀ know.Ā āĀ theĀ dvdĀ popsĀ out,Ā pristineĀ andĀ withoutĀ aĀ scratchĀ onĀ theĀ surface,Ā shimmeringĀ likeĀ digitalĀ diamondsĀ beneathĀ theĀ lightsĀ beforeĀ disappearingĀ intoĀ theĀ sideĀ ofĀ theĀ television,Ā menuĀ andĀ themeĀ poppingĀ upĀ onĀ theĀ displayĀ inĀ anĀ instant,Ā drippingĀ withĀ š
šøš±šš°š½šĀ nostalgia.Ā theĀ chairĀ nextĀ toĀ jill'sĀ bedĀ squeaksĀ asĀ rebecca'sĀ tinyĀ frameĀ slinksĀ intoĀ theĀ middle,Ā kneesĀ proppedĀ upĀ toĀ herĀ chest.Ā sheĀ hitsĀ playĀ onĀ theĀ remote,Ā candyĀ wrapperĀ rustlingĀ incessantlyĀ inĀ herĀ pocketĀ beforeĀ it'sĀ rippedĀ openĀ andĀ consumedĀ inĀ twoĀ starvedĀ bites.
āĀ oh!Ā thisĀ isĀ myĀ favoriteĀ part.Ā āĀ theĀ charactersĀ lieĀ bellyĀ downĀ onĀ aĀ roof,Ā whileĀ mathildaĀ staresĀ downĀ theĀ scopeĀ ofĀ aĀ rifle,Ā lookingĀ forĀ aĀ viableĀ targetĀ fromĀ aĀ quarterĀ mileĀ away.Ā sheĀ findsĀ aĀ jogger,Ā fingerĀ hoveringĀ overĀ theĀ trigger,Ā andĀ takesĀ aĀ deepĀ breath.Ā theĀ bulletsĀ areĀ onlyĀ bloodĀ redĀ paintballs,Ā butĀ sheĀ hitsĀ theĀ targetĀ nonetheless,Ā boldlyĀ askingĀ forĀ ārealĀ bulletsāĀ nextĀ time.Ā isĀ lĆ©onĀ theĀ professional,Ā orĀ isĀ itĀ mathilda,Ā soĀ eagerĀ toĀ šŗšøš»š»Ā withoutĀ aĀ secondĀ thought?
eyelidsĀ growĀ heavierĀ byĀ eachĀ passingĀ minute,Ā theĀ movieĀ turningĀ intoĀ splashesĀ ofĀ color,Ā blurredĀ byĀ flutteringĀ lashesĀ thatĀ soonĀ close.Ā she'sĀ onlyĀ restingĀ herĀ eyes,Ā asĀ she'dĀ sayĀ ifĀ sheĀ wereĀ wokenĀ up,Ā hopelesslyĀ driftingĀ offĀ intoĀ aĀ deepĀ slumber.Ā she'sĀ beenĀ neckĀ deepĀ inĀ research,Ā traumaĀ patients,Ā andĀ theĀ enlivenedĀ restlessnessĀ thatĀ comesĀ withĀ theĀ newsĀ thatĀ yourĀ ādeadĀ inĀ absentiaāĀ friendĀ isĀ actuallyĀ alive,Ā butĀ farĀ fromĀ well.Ā āĀ foundĀ herā¦Ā safe.Ā āĀ sheĀ murmursĀ inĀ herĀ sleep,Ā chocolateĀ stainedĀ lipsĀ curledĀ intoĀ theĀ faintestĀ smile.Ā finally,Ā aĀ chapterĀ isĀ closedĀ pavingĀ wayĀ forĀ freshĀ inkĀ onĀ blankĀ pages,Ā whichĀ byĀ allĀ meansĀ shouldĀ beĀ filledĀ withĀ aĀ storyĀ ofĀ aĀ moreĀ jovialĀ nature, but unfortunatelyĀ forĀ them,Ā whatĀ shouldĀ be,Ā andĀ whatĀ willĀ be areĀ twoĀ vastlyĀ š³šøšµšµš“šš“š½šĀ scenarios.Ā oneĀ livesĀ solelyĀ inĀ theirĀ imagination,Ā andĀ theĀ otherĀ clawingĀ itās'Ā wayĀ intoĀ theirĀ wakingĀ world,Ā tearingĀ theirĀ dreamsĀ limbĀ byĀ limb,Ā untilĀ there'sĀ nothingĀ leftĀ thatĀ resemblesĀ anythingĀ vaguelyĀ human.Ā onlyĀ aĀ hollowĀ shell,Ā pickingĀ upĀ whereĀ theyĀ leftĀ off,Ā intoĀ theĀ darkĀ shadowsĀ ofĀ anotherĀ diabolicalĀ labyrinth.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āI might have taken some inspiration.ā Thereās no sheepishness in the confession, not a hint of embarrassment in admission of the subconscious genesis of a hairstyle spawned so many years ago and worn with such pride, just a small, sentimental smile ------ lacerated immediately by a precipitous pang of perturbation, realization that her hair is so different now. Snared only briefly in peripheral reflection a mere handful of times, physical reactions not her own unmoved by the revelation, she knows the brown that had been hers to have been leeched from it, replaced by a foreign, lackluster blonde more wrong for the familiar ponytail it had been encased it, and the skintight bodysuit it had hung over. Superficial changes when weighed against all else, but an affront, a violation nonetheless, a physical denotation of the less visible disruptions to Jill Valentine.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā A blink, and the crack in her demeanor is filled, though imperfectly, with copper rather than gold, smile reforming more forced in aspect than it had been a moment prior, flickering at the reminder. āSeven is a lot of keep track of,ā she claims in her own defense, eschewing thought that French may be a new, missed addition to the repertoire, and resultant attempts to recall if she had heard it from her friend before, āC'est du franƧais alors.ā
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Sheās docile with a drop of excited anticipation mixed with lingering guilt as Rebecca loads the tape and makes herself comfortable, gratitude for the compassion behind the snacks impelling her to pick from among the selection ------ a pack of Reeces, one cup nibbled haltingly, the sweetness of the peanut butter and chocolate too intense against her tongue and teeth to devour with any more rapidity. Ā If the corruption of yet another element of her life galls, its diminished by her disinterest in the treat.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Just as the cover of the DVD had, the images that blaze across the modest screen tug at her ------ the soundtrack, the faces and voices of the leading duo ( mercifully indistinguishable from her memory in their native language ), the scenes and situations⦠all recall less aberrant times. Viewings with her father, then alone, and more recently with Claire. Memory only exaggerates the peccancy of watching the film now, in a hospital bed, Rebecca scrunched into a chair beside her, Kijuju gone to hell, so many dead in the worst of ways, and Uroboros uncontained. The pictures blur as she watches, reminiscent stirring surpassed by culpability unforgettable, her friendās alleged favourite part crystalising for just long enough to feign enjoyment ------ and for the familial bond between LĆ©on and Mathilda to clench a vice around her chest, her own fatherās absence from here, from the lips of anyone, a stinging wound.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Does he know Iām alive? Would Claire have told him? Is he still in prison?
Ā Ā Ā Vision of her father alone in his cell, believing her dead, tighten her stomach and throat tighten next, exciting the monitor into slightly shriller beeping. A surreptitious glance meant to bear an inquiry more casual than she feels, finds her only potential source of information sleeping, chin creased against her knee and glasses sliding down her nose, mumbling to herself. Rebecca always was adept at falling asleep. If the affection that may have blossomed with that recognition doesnāt quite materialize, lost to despondency, Jill doesnāt move to wake her, either, her gaze returning listlessly to the television, resigned to waiting out her or Claire with the dagger thrust through her heart twisting with every breath.