Everything. Everything sounded so much clearer, like somebody had dotted speakers all around Dagny and turned the volume up to its highest, and then some more. She could hear the shrill ringing of the receptionist’s telephone down the hall, the sound of somebody’s IV drip in another room bleeping every so often, the soft pitter patter of a nurse’s plimsolls on the plastic floor, and singing, coming from some birds nesting in a tree beside the open window. Dagny stayed very still as she listened, listened as though her ears were her eyes that had just been opened wider than ever before. She could feel the warmth of the morning sun through the glass pane, how it caressed the side of her cheek and left her blonde curls dazzling, and her sharp features sparkling. A cool, calming breeze came from outside, and the bright room breathed the fresh air in and out, like the sea ebbing to and fro. It was peaceful, and the feel of the light wind against her sun-kissed skin soothed Dagny. She should have been able to see how the bright rays bounced around the white room to make it seem so heavenly. She should have been able to look out through her window to watch the beautiful blue feathered birds chirping, perched on their brown branch. Dagny should have been able to notice the yellow daffodils hugging together as the breeze jostled them gently, but instead all she saw was a nothingness. Not even the fabric of her bandages, wrapped around her eye sockets, could she see. No pain had ever hurt Dagny more than when she’d been told the news; her retinas had been too badly burnt by the acid. There was nothing that they could do. This was a wound that would not heal over time. They were sorry, but she was blind.
Dagny had not cried like she’d cried when the world had first gone dark, when her eyes had been a loving blue cast down upon the face of Zoe Chapman in her arms. At the remembrance of Zoe, the wind whistled outside, and carried in it was the ghostly echoes of the dark haired girl’s laughter, playing over and over in Dagny’s ears like some wisp of a fading memory. Her fingers dug into the thin mattress of her hospital bed, and she gritted her teeth. Zoe’s smile had been the last thing Dagny had seen, and how languidly she had raised her darker hands to the German’s face to caress it. The blonde recalled how all of the light and joy in the room had, to her, been absorbed by Zoe like the brunette was some beautiful beacon of unpolluted brightness, and whenever Zoe smiled that light shone out brighter than ever before, reflecting in vibrant diamond rays. At least that is what Dagny saw. Had seen. Once or twice she tried to remove the bandages from about her vision, believing that it was the material that kept her from seeing. But each time she’d tried, and with every moment she succeeded, there came nothing but more darkness. “You must keep it on,” said a nurse, redressing the bandages. Dagny said not a word in response, not even a grunt. She didn’t even fight back. The German could not tell if she shut her eyes or if they were already shut. All she knew now was that it hurt to try and move them, excruciatingly and confusingly, and so she stopped after several tireless hours of defiance. Time had escaped her, as did her care for it, and all she knew was that somebody came to check on her every so often. It wasn’t anybody Dagny recognised; it definitely wasn’t Zoe.
At some point the singing birds flew away and the warm sun tucked itself behind grey clouds, making the once welcomed breeze cold. It plagued Dagny’s tanned skin with goose bumps, and her hearing followed the sound of a nurse entering the room and closing the window. “I brought you dinner,” the nurse said, the wheels of the trolley squeaking quietly as she brought in the food. Dagny did not move, not even when the lid from the meal was lifted and out drifted the flavoured steam of mashed potatoes and chicken. Her stomach growled viciously but she remained still because runts didn’t deserve sustenance. “Won’t you eat something?” The nurse asked, soft. There came a lengthy pause, and all the while the nurse waited for Dagny to answer. It soon became apparent that the giant German would not respond, and so the nurse spoke up again but this time Dagny’s focus was on the soft sound of high heels in the close distant. Dagny’s breathing grew laboured, and her heart sunk into the soles of her bare feet when the noise came to a stop at her infirmary door. She listened carefully, without a twitch to signal that she’d realised a visitor. The stranger was not close enough for Dagny to smell, but there was no need for it when her voice arose. “I’ll get her to eat something,” Zoe spoke. Zoe’s voice held in it emotion that Dagny had never heard her speak with before, a sort of disquieted penitence laced with a self-loathing and fear of whatever came next, of wherever Dagny decided to take this. She sounded prepared for rejection, set to enclose herself in some hard case, like steel, when Dagny finally tells her that she wants nothing more to do with Zoe.
Looking at Dagny was harder than Zoe first imagined it to be. It’d been stupid but Zoe near deluded herself into expecting the large blonde to be fine, grinning from ear to ear with bared teeth and vibrant blue eyes. She wanted nothing more than to be grabbed by the giant German and lifted up high into the air right then, in fact she yearned so badly for it that Zoe could have sworn she felt Dagny’s fingers about her waist, pressing as roughly as they’d done so in the past. In truth none of it happened and Zoe grew nauseous. She could feel it inside, the guilt, crawling under her skin, and that guiltiness only built the longer she stood there staring. Dagny was blindfolded by several layers of bandages pinned around her head, but the edges of the scarring could still be seen slightly. The German didn’t look as though she was in pain, but no matter the calmness displayed Zoe recalled Dagny’s aggrieved cries just after the incident. She hadn’t been there in the room, she’d ran half way down the hall by the time Dagny’s cry of defeat sounded, but the scream had been loud and it had been strong and the noise had penetrated Zoe just as it had everybody else in that hallway that afternoon; it’d shaken her to the core. To Zoe it was like the entire school had been there to witness it happen, all save for her. She'd thought it'd be easier to just leave because it wasn't as if she could just snap her fingers and fix this.
Between thinly parted lips, Zoe let out a breath. The nurse had left them alone, albeit hesitantly because she'd known what had maimed Dagny. Or rather, who had maimed Dagny. Everybody knew. "Dagny?" She said, soft. So soft that it made her clear her throat and remind herself not to sound like that again. The German didn't react and Zoe almost decided to leave, believing for a moment that Dagny really hated her. However something made her stop. A niggling in the back of her mind that said to go to Dagny and touch her, and maybe that feeling was just some conceited curiosity of Zoe's, but the young woman hinted at it being something else. So with a hard swallow and more balls than she'd had in a while, Zoe stepped closer to Dagny. Her fingers locked together nervously, and she didn't fail to notice how the blonde tensed her biceps briefly. All Zoe hoped for was that Dagny would simply listen to what she had to say. She'd go away forever afterwards.
Dagny could hear Zoe draw near and the blind brute didn't know how to feel about that. She was on edge; one part of her didn't want to hurt Zoe, so the closer Zoe got the more Dagny wanted to back away, and another part of her wanted to show Zoe affection. Dagny didn't hate Zoe, that feeling she firmly believed, but she was conflicted because Zoe hurt her, so Zoe should be an enemy. The German didn't want to make an enemy out of Zoe, so some queer decision in the back of Dagny's mind made her understand what should happen now. Zoe had beaten Dagny, so Dagny should die. She took in a deep breath through her nose, welcoming Zoe's familiar perfume, and waited as though she was about to be executed. Cool fingertips reached out with a slight shake to them and stroked against Dagny's temples, and the warmth from Zoe's body as the girl stepped a little closer was far more prominent all of a sudden. Zoe was in front of Dagny and it took all of the German's restraint not to just take up the brunette in her arms, as though the two were Tarzan and Jane. What it was that Zoe was doing was a question left on Dagny's lips. Those fingertips close to Dagny's face gently smoothed around the bandages to the back of her head, feeling for the pins, and all the while Dagny's face stayed serene. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Dagny." Zoe said, as she slid the pins from where they held fast the blindfold. Dagny winced, feeling the bandages loosen.
Once the dressing was off, Zoe would be able to see the damage she had inflicted upon Dagny, and both of them were hesitant over that. They both held their breaths and something in Zoe fast came to regret doing this; she'd seen Phantom of the Opera, as boring a film as it were, she knew what happened when that stupid girl took the mask off of Gerard Butler. Zoe could only hope that that was not the reaction she'd get from Dagny . But she'd come this far and Dagny wasn't showing any signs of disapproval, though Zoe knew just how quickly Dagny's mood changed and was wary of that. Her heart thumped beneath her breast whilst the covering fell away, into her palms, and Dagny stiffened as the cool air of the infirmary room hit her tender skin. Zoe stared. The eyes were white, glassy and sightless, yet somehow Zoe was certain that they were staring straight at her. The innocent blue that she'd so loved was gone, and the skin around Dagny's eyes was taut and sore and pink. Zoe had disfigured Dagny with the acid, and upon that realisation Zoe's heart sunk low into her shoes. Her face scrunched but she made an effort not to make a sound. Dagny did not react to any of it. She wouldn't because she couldn't see it, couldn't notice it, and that too made it all the more harder for Zoe to not start crying. As if to stifle a sob, she brought up a hand to her mouth and clamped it there, unable to take her eyes from Dagny's face. "You were my masterpiece and I disfigured you," Zoe said, dark eyes sparkling with pooling water.
Right then her expression shared enough emotion for the two of them, and whilst Dagny could not see the anguish displayed she could certainly hear it. Zoe was torturing herself, and Dagny just sat there and stared into nothingness, listening. The German wanted to say something, but she hardly understood how to comfort another. She'd not been taught how to do that though she wished that right then she had been. Without thinking, Dagny extended a large hand to feel for Zoe, and found the side of her head. Some of Dagny's fingers slid through Zoe's soft hair, and at the touch of it the corners of Dagny's lips twitched. She heard Zoe's breath catch. "Zoe," Dagny said, brows pulling together slowly. Her palm slid to Zoe's cheek. No words were coming to mind right then and yet Dagny knew that she wanted to say something. Her other hand lifted to her own chest, and with a tap with her index finger Dagny struggled to say something. "Dagny," she said, pointing to herself before pointing its tip against Zoe's chest too. She shook her head. "Dagny does not blame Zoe." The blonde placed her unseeing eyes to where she believed Zoe's brown eyes to be, and slowly a grand grin cut its way through Dagny's lips and touched her eyes, lighting them up just like they had many a time before.
They used this green language, the Greek philosophers did. They spoke in a green way, with green words. I don’t know, what is the word. Um. Um. It was cryptic, yeah thats it, they were cryptic in how they talked.
some stoned guy attempting to explain pre-socratic thought to me (via hyper-cerebraldeathmachine)
It’s a cycle. You start a story, and it’s stupid. You don’t have any ideas. You’re washed up. Finished. And then you get a sliver of an idea, but it’s kind of dumb. Ugh. Then you start working it, and it becomes, oh, maybe. Alright. Yeah, I am going to finish this story. I did finish it! It’s not terrible! [Then] you don’t have any ideas. Is that what life is? It’s just a series of enacting the cycle. Lately, it’s become kind of wonderful to say, ‘Yeah, so now I’m at the point where I don’t have any ideas. Is is a crisis? No, it’s not a crisis. You’ve been here before. And maybe even you could enjoy that moment when you’re bereft of ideas… The goal would be to keep enacting that [cycle], live to 190, and put the period on the best story ever.
