And today I'm creative, I leave another fic I did. Contains Spoilers to the last chapter of the seventh: "Living Doll" (inclusive).
Disclaimer: Eeeeehhh ... are not mine?
NA: This fic is about the style of intimate things . Contains spoilers up to the final chapter of the seventh season: "Living Doll" (inclusive). Enjoy!
work is not like before. The house either. Nothing is as it used to be. The food has no taste, music unnerves me, reading bores me, the news does not surprise me.
Si antes era un fantasma ahora soy… un zombie.
Estoy harto de los insectos y de sus infinitos nombres en latín. Me desespera la cantidad de crímenes sin resolver que se acumulan en el laboratorio. Estoy hasta la coronilla de Ecklie y sus escándalos por las nimiedades más insignificantes.
Las jaquecas me vienen a diario, pero ya es inútil cualquier medicación. Da igual. Para qué.
Every day the same, get up, shower, eat breakfast, drive to the lab, sharing cases, go to the scene, collect evidence, bring it back for analysis, monitoring and return home to eat and sleep. And the next day the same. Every day. From Monday to Monday.
What are we doing? I used to think to know. Now, however, I could not respond. I used to believe in justice. At least on the balance between good and evil or karma or whatever you call it. Now ... now I do not think of me. How? How could you trust if you let me die? How could I believe in divine justice if you let him die?
look at your picture, little one, the look and smile sweetly. But I'm so dead inside not even feel the tenderness I used to feel up from my chest to my mouth and often reassured me. Even I was glad.
You look and feel no pain. I do not feel anything. I mourn or laugh, but I can not. I have been drying soul Or was always like that?
vivo do not know why, really. Why continue this futile breathing and feeding routine. I wish my heart just stopped beating and close their eyes to sleep the peaceful sleep of those who have already left. Like you.
I feel like the abandoned shell of a cocoon on a branch, forgotten by the beautiful butterfly that broke. I'm broken, empty, Sara. I'm already dead.
I feel like my work from now on was counting the seconds to go for my final hour. One by one. Like clockwork. Tic-one. Tac: two. Tic: three. I'm a time bomb in reverse. And exploded.
The only tangible in my life, dear Sarah, are all these headaches. I drilled the temples furiously. With morbid fun. Do not let me sleep and the bags under my eyes are becoming more noticeable. I look in the mirror in the morning, before the turn and I did not recognize. I'm old. I feel old. I am old. And I know I have only been five years since ... since you left, but about a hundred. Mil. Hundred thousand. And there are so many yet.
Silence, initially oppressive, it is now omnipresent. Awake, sometimes in the middle of the night and I think I've heard her laugh. Since that time Bruno was with his nose stuck in a jam jar. Or when ... I gave it to Bruno, Sara. Could not bear to see it lying near the door waiting for you each morning. Forgive me.
Forgive me for not being there when I needed it. Never was. Even the last day of your life. Even at your funeral.
understand now why I hated it at times and is, in fact, I am a coward. But that is nothing new. I am a coward, but with good reason. Look what I've become? I risked everything and lost. I lost. The only time it occurred to me to bet, I put everything on the table ... and lost. Not only that he had, but also what they would have.
thought to buying a bigger house. That had an extra room to decorate in blue or pink ... I think right? I looked for names. I thought it would be possible to reduce my hours to, I dunno, go to a baseball game ... or if it was a little girl ... where have you girls to have fun, Sara? You had known.
But no matter! You're not! And there will be fewer hours of work. There will be a bigger house. God, this department makes me huge! If even hear echoes, I do not know if in the corners of the room or in my mind.
I'm going crazy. Or senile. Or both. Whatever. No one cares. Warrick takes over the days I do not go, they are growing. Be a good supervisor, I do not doubt it. Do not you said it, honey? I will retire. I do not know what to do with the money. Perhaps donate to a charity. That you would have liked, right? The problem is I do not know what to do with long hands. Nothing stimulates me. I get on a roller coaster and it's like adrenaline refused to flow through my blood. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me nothing.
I miss you, Sara. Everything would be so different. There are times I think if you had hallucinations, would be happier. I look forward even be senile as well spend the rest of my days with you, or the hallucination of you, or whatever.
Talking to a picture and it's a start, do not you think?
FIN
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