AAAA another house oc blog I love u... can u tell us more about Finn :)))
OOC: hi!!! I wanted give you and anyone else who was interested about Finn an interesting way to get to know him. I often feel like my characters are often dictated by their struggle so i tried my hand at writing something for him. The following is what a bad day for Finn looks like :) i don’t write often(ever) so i hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the love 🫶🫶🫶🫶
What a Bad Day Looks Like - Finn
Bad days always started with waking up with a pit in his stomach. Finn never really remembered his dreams, but his body always remembered the way they made him feel. He woke today with a cool heavy stone sitting deep in his gut that he would carry with him at least till noon.
He hated sentimentality. Somehow, today he found himself remembering. On the drive to work he was momentarily blinded by the rising sun cresting the horizon. The yellow light shining gold through the orange autumn leaves, the hue *just* similar enough to remind him of his mothers hair. He would slap the car's visor down with a bit more gusto than usual. The firmness of the action reminded him of his father.
Finn had rounds in the ER that morning. Each patient a problem with a solution, the more hands-on the better. He found his rhythm as he sewed each wound, his hands fluid and quick until- a sudden stillness overtook him. The unmistakable suffocating odor of campfire smoke had wafted into his examination room from a camper with an allergic reaction next door.
Just for a moment he was back there. His blistered hands trembling while gripping primitive tools as the other kids circled and tried to help start a fire. Dirty faces and aching bodies too tired to cry. Damaged goods sent off to learn confidence but Finn had never felt so hollow.
Finn shook his head and resumed his stitch, that same heavy stone weighing on his soul throbbed an echo of the pain from his teenage years. The wound unhealed. Finn moved on to the next stitch.
After lunch, a joke didn't land. His colleague pulled a face and no one else had even smiled. Somehow Finn felt like he would be better off in a ditch. He was an annoying guy who said annoying things and certainly everybody else thought he was annoying too.
Finn would let out a wry laugh and say “tough crowd!”. He was good at making fun of himself.
Finn should've brought Kalimba to work today. Sure, he wasn't having a bad narcolepsy day and likely didn't medically need her, but he needed her. He looked forward to squishing that perfect, soft, unjudgmental face when he got home. For now it was just energy drinks and a dream.
Finn got paged in on a trauma 1 activation. A bicyclist shredded by an SUV. Sometimes Finn felt like these kinds of surgeries were much like bailing water out of a life raft in a storm. Wet gloves stained crimson as he frantically tried to pull them through. If he had just kept going he could get through it too. He had done it all his life. He could convince you that he wasn't tired.
The patient was pronounced dead at 7:06pm. Finn felt like he had drowned.
Dinner was cold pizza on the couch, Kalimba was on his lap trying to ground him as he drifted away. Away away, the waves lapped at his cheeks as he stared through the wall. The record he’d put on had started skipping and the chorus repeated dissonantly against the walls of his apartment. Days like these he wondered when he would ever be allowed to grow up and get over himself. Maybe tomorrow.
