Sanctuary
she is sanctum.
Sanctuary was a place called the moon for this man. And he found the sanctuary through so many days trained and taught and told what to do, but yet none of that prepared him for this. The great loneliness that came a week in and worsened through the months and years he drifted through. He's in the boat, stranded without a paddle, and it's happening.
Sam Bell starts to see things that he doesn't particularly expect to see. One of which is the physical embodiment of a woman he once loved, in a yellow dress he remembered from a night he also remembered but would not think about. Deny, deny, deny, deny.
She doesn't say anything, she only stands there and watches him. He wants to speak to her, but acknowledging her meant acknowledging his desolation, and his apparent insanity. He was not especially fond of that idea.
He would talk about it, but there was no one to listen, apart from the robot that would offer him tests in a response. Sam Bell was sick of tests.
She's beautiful from the bits of her he saw in his peripherals, looked just how he remembered and why wouldn't she? She wasn't real. He imagined her the way he wanted to, not how she was the last he saw her. There was more dirt to scrape away in his past then you would expect, it was there and he had never cared to clean it away.
So he lays in his bed, inevitably alone for a still lengthy amount of time, and his wife's lovely eyes gaze at him through her portrait but he doesn't gaze back. No, he looks into space – quite literally – and thinks of the woman that haunts him. Day in, day out, and he see's her even then, in the very corner of his eye, a slender, curvy frame leant against a wall in her long thin yellow dress. And she also gazes at him.
Sam Bell is so alone. Gerty does not cure it with his voice and neither with any amount of pills. Sam Bell is sick of the feeling of alone. And so, Sam Bell turns his head and, finally, his eyes pass the portrait of his beautiful wife until he finds yellow. Sam Bell gazes back, and the beautiful woman in yellow is translucent no more. She smiles. “I missed you so much.”
It was better then nothing.
Sam Bell starts to see things that he doesn't particularly expect to see. One of which is the physical embodiment of a woman he once loved, in a yellow dress he remembered from a night he also remembered but would not think about. Deny, deny, deny, deny.
She doesn't say anything, she only stands there and watches him. He wants to speak to her, but acknowledging her meant acknowledging his desolation, and his apparent insanity. He was not especially fond of that idea.
He would talk about it, but there was no one to listen, apart from the robot that would offer him tests in a response. Sam Bell was sick of tests.
She's beautiful from the bits of her he saw in his peripherals, looked just how he remembered and why wouldn't she? She wasn't real. He imagined her the way he wanted to, not how she was the last he saw her. There was more dirt to scrape away in his past then you would expect, it was there and he had never cared to clean it away.
So he lays in his bed, inevitably alone for a still lengthy amount of time, and his wife's lovely eyes gaze at him through her portrait but he doesn't gaze back. No, he looks into space – quite literally – and thinks of the woman that haunts him. Day in, day out, and he see's her even then, in the very corner of his eye, a slender, curvy frame leant against a wall in her long thin yellow dress. And she also gazes at him.
Sam Bell is so alone. Gerty does not cure it with his voice and neither with any amount of pills. Sam Bell is sick of the feeling of alone. And so, Sam Bell turns his head and, finally, his eyes pass the portrait of his beautiful wife until he finds yellow. Sam Bell gazes back, and the beautiful woman in yellow is translucent no more. She smiles. “I missed you so much.”
It was better then nothing.