3. Create a playlist for a piece of fan fiction [15 points].
Never Doubt I Love by @owlish-peacock36
A calm and relaxing playlist to put you in the mood to read this amazing story. I went for songs that I think really reflect Jamie, Claire, and John’s thoughts and feelings.
YOUNG WIFE FOUND DEAD IN HOME: ACCIDENT OR MURDER?
May 13, 1897
Officers arrived at the scene of a grisly murder mere hours ago. The victim, identified as Claire Randall, seems to have suffered from a head injury that led to her death. Her husband, a professor Frank Randall, could not be reached for further questioning.
More information to be provided at a later date, but one question remains: Was this an accident, or was this murder?
***
Jamie stared unseeingly at his screen. With it’s bright light and dramatic title, the article all but persuaded him to read it. And without a second thought, he did. Now, the article’s words were burned into his brain.
Grisly.
Head injury.
Murder.
He couldn’t forget it if he tried. The question was: Should he tell Claire?
The question rang in his mind over and over again until it became a dull moan that lulled him to sleep.
***
“JAMIE!”
The familiar voice, dripping with fear and confusion, jolted Jamie awake. Dread filled his chest, turning his blood to ice. What could frighten a ghost? Sprinting toward the sound of her voice, he found Claire hunched on the kitchen floor, small sobs escaping her trembling body.
“Claire?!” He slid toward her, falling to his knees. His hands hovered in the air above her; he could not touch her ethereal form, but wished to offer her some bodily comfort.
“Jamie!” She gasped, her chest heaving from effort. “I--”
She screamed then, a piercing howl of pain and panic. She clutched her head, pulling her hair away from her scalp. Jamie reached to grab her wrists--to stop her--but his skin was met with the cool mist that was her intangible body.
“Claire! Stop! What’s going on?!”
“My… HEAD!” Her moan shook the windows, and rang in Jamie’s ears. He needed to do something. Anything.
“Mo nighean, can ye get up? Can ye stand? Perhaps if ye made it to the sofa, ye could lie…”
Another yelp, like an animal caught in a trap. “NO!”
That’s when Jamie found himself curled around her, spoon-fashion, cradling her hazy form. An instinct, perhaps, to protect, though there wasn't much he could do.
“Shhhh, a ghraidh. I’m here. Shhhh…” He slid his fingers through the misty tendrils of her hair. “I’m here…”
***
Claire seemed to have entered a sort of trance. Jamie knew that, as a ghost, sleep evaded her. However, her breathing grew deep and heavy, as if she had settled on the kitchen floor for a nap.
“Claire?”
“Hmm?”
“What happened?”
She rolled to face him, her eyes weary and full of pain. “I don’t know. My head…” She shivered at the memory of pain. “It began to… it felt like nothing I’d ever experienced. Not even when I was alive.”
“Mo nighean donn…”
She smiled weakly. “It’s alright. It’s over now.”
But, Jamie wasn’t so sure. His mind raced back to the article.
...Suffered from a head injury that led to her death…
***
The next week passed with worry present in the back of Jamie’s mind. Every glance, every word from Claire bore the weight of the truth that settled in his brain.
Grisly.
Head injury.
Murder.
He couldn’t stop imagining: Where did it happen? In the bedroom? In the kitchen? Did she try to fight the attacker? IF there was even an attacker…
The worst, though, were the images that assaulted his mind: Claire, lifeless and blue, drenched in a puddle of her own blood… It brought on nightmares so real and so vivid that Jamie woke multiple times throughout the night, shaking and gasping for air.
He didn’t tell Claire this, though. He kept this knowledge to himself, though the urge to divulge strengthened everyday. He didn’t want to bear this weight alone.
But, that was selfish of him. What if she didn’t want to know? He couldn’t force this information on her, information that had evaded her mind for a century.
But, didn’t she have the right to now?
This dilemma plagued him for days--should he, or shouldn’t he?--until Claire brought up his unpleasant mood.
“Are you well, Jamie? You haven’t been yourself lately.”
“Just… some things on my mind. That’s all.”
“Would you care to talk about it?”
“I… don’t…. I dinna ken. It’s about… ye, Claire.”
“Me?”
“Aye.” He looked into her eyes, compassionate and kind. Like sunlight through whisky. Could he tell her the truth, the ugly and painful suffering that led her to this fate?
Didn’t she deserve to know?
“Aye,” he repeated. “I think… I think I ken how ye died.”
Sooooo, I’m sitting here with bronchitis, chilling on the couch with my pup, and working on BYSF chapter 1(!), so if anyone has any questions for me, I’d be happy to answer them! I’m not doing much else!
**Sorry, like I said before, new to Tumblr. The ask me anything function should work now, probably...**
