[replica model] • LUKE FON FABRE (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fabrecation) wrote2012-07-04 03:50 pm
fabrecation) wrote2012-07-04 03:50 pm
026 [written]
[It's so bad now that Luke feels like he can barely get out of bed except for necessary needs. It's... honestly kind of strange. Sure, he's scared, and sure, he hates having to lay here and just wait for it to happen, despite writing and drawing to pass the time. But he isn't quite as terrified as he was just a month ago.
It's like he's accepted that this is happening in a quiet, somber sort of way.
There's pain every day, he's tired every day, he's thin and pale and looks as if he's just wasting away, as if he's all that's left after tiny pieces of himself slowly just... faded away. Even his hair seemed not quite as full as it ought to be.
He hated it, yes. But it's happening. And he's close to fading away completely, he knows that. Maybe that's why he's mostly okay with this. It can finally be over.
He'd only flipped through the journal to keep track of everyone. Now, though, he can't help being morbidly curious, in a way. So, making sure that he himself is out of sight, he writes slowly to the masses.]
If someone told you that you didn't have much longer to live, what would you do about it? What would you do with the last days of your life?
[It's a question that could be asked even by a curious healthy person, something to get people to think. He can think of it that way, and get answers that he might just need because of it.]
It's like he's accepted that this is happening in a quiet, somber sort of way.
There's pain every day, he's tired every day, he's thin and pale and looks as if he's just wasting away, as if he's all that's left after tiny pieces of himself slowly just... faded away. Even his hair seemed not quite as full as it ought to be.
He hated it, yes. But it's happening. And he's close to fading away completely, he knows that. Maybe that's why he's mostly okay with this. It can finally be over.
He'd only flipped through the journal to keep track of everyone. Now, though, he can't help being morbidly curious, in a way. So, making sure that he himself is out of sight, he writes slowly to the masses.]
If someone told you that you didn't have much longer to live, what would you do about it? What would you do with the last days of your life?
[It's a question that could be asked even by a curious healthy person, something to get people to think. He can think of it that way, and get answers that he might just need because of it.]
[Written/private]
They're all hurting because they think they could have done something, made you feel more comfortable, something. But sometimes, it makes things easier when people don't know. Makes life feel normal, the life you enjoyed before you got sick. Don't regret it, kid. Don't hold it against em--but never regret it. It's your last days, weeks, months to decide how you want them to go.
[He taps his pen, silent.]
I don't think they realize how much it hurts to be looked at like a ticking clock.
[Written/private]
A ticking clock. That's exactly how it feels sometimes, especially lately. Knowing that at least a few people can see him like this. He lifts up one hand - completely covered by a glove to hide just how bony it looks, and slowly curls it into a weak fist. Even just doing that, he can feel how thin his fingers are.
He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair... shuts his eyes and tries to ignore that light little sensation of strands of hair falling against his neck and shoulders, keeps them closed as he pulls his hand away, unwilling to see more strands against his hand. One of the things he's so proud of, too...
And people get to see that. It's not hard to see the frustration, the sadness, in their eyes.
Finally, he opens his eyes and reaches to write again.]
Who are you?
[Written/private]
[Being a soldier is pretty dangerous, after all.]