Status: very, very much incomplete
Throwing Shadows
the truth is in the dirt
Sam‘s voice is quiet. She barely even notices he‘s talking.
“Hannah, why don’t you get cleaned up. There’s a towel and I’m sure between the two of us we have something clean you can wear. When you get done I’ll help you stitch up any wounds you have, okay?”
He holds out his hand for her.
“wait.” she says. “You guys believe all that? Some stranger just shows up and says she thinks she might have died and you’re telling me to hit the shower. Shouldn’t you take me to a hospital? Or an asylum?”
Sam keeps his hand out to her. He smirks and says “believe it or not, this is isn’t the strangest thing that’s ever happened to us. This isn’t even the strangest thing that’s happened today.”
He reaches out for her again. This time she shakes her head and takes his hand. She limps into the bathroom. Her feet still aching and raw. Sam hands her a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a plain black sweat shirt. The woman thanks him and closes the door, making sure to lock it behind her. She leans against the closed door and begins to cry.
“Stop crying.” she says to herself. She catches herself in the mirror and cries harder.
She sees her wild hair. The blood dried from being pushed so hard on the concrete that night. Her shirt is shredded. Pants too. Her arms are a colorful array of reds and sky blues and deep purples. She finally gathers herself together enough to undress and slip into the shower. As the water takes its time winding and creaking its way through the pipes, the woman prepares herself for the sting of water meeting opened flesh.
When the water finally sprays onto her, she hisses more from the cold than the cuts. She looks down and sees the blood wash from her skin, leaving nothing behind but peaches and cream skin, untouched and unbroken. The woman gasps.
Nothing.
Not even a freckle remained.
She began looking over her whole body only to be left empty handed. no cuts, no bruises, no childhood scars from riding too fast on a too slow bike, no sign that the last two weeks had ever happened. No sign that she had ever lived at all.
The woman washes herself and puts on the clothes Sam left for her. She decides not to tell the men about the disappearing act. She figures there are some secrets a lady should keep to herself.
“Hannah, why don’t you get cleaned up. There’s a towel and I’m sure between the two of us we have something clean you can wear. When you get done I’ll help you stitch up any wounds you have, okay?”
He holds out his hand for her.
“wait.” she says. “You guys believe all that? Some stranger just shows up and says she thinks she might have died and you’re telling me to hit the shower. Shouldn’t you take me to a hospital? Or an asylum?”
Sam keeps his hand out to her. He smirks and says “believe it or not, this is isn’t the strangest thing that’s ever happened to us. This isn’t even the strangest thing that’s happened today.”
He reaches out for her again. This time she shakes her head and takes his hand. She limps into the bathroom. Her feet still aching and raw. Sam hands her a pair of drawstring sweatpants and a plain black sweat shirt. The woman thanks him and closes the door, making sure to lock it behind her. She leans against the closed door and begins to cry.
“Stop crying.” she says to herself. She catches herself in the mirror and cries harder.
She sees her wild hair. The blood dried from being pushed so hard on the concrete that night. Her shirt is shredded. Pants too. Her arms are a colorful array of reds and sky blues and deep purples. She finally gathers herself together enough to undress and slip into the shower. As the water takes its time winding and creaking its way through the pipes, the woman prepares herself for the sting of water meeting opened flesh.
When the water finally sprays onto her, she hisses more from the cold than the cuts. She looks down and sees the blood wash from her skin, leaving nothing behind but peaches and cream skin, untouched and unbroken. The woman gasps.
Nothing.
Not even a freckle remained.
She began looking over her whole body only to be left empty handed. no cuts, no bruises, no childhood scars from riding too fast on a too slow bike, no sign that the last two weeks had ever happened. No sign that she had ever lived at all.
The woman washes herself and puts on the clothes Sam left for her. She decides not to tell the men about the disappearing act. She figures there are some secrets a lady should keep to herself.