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More Joy Day is a fucking awesome idea. We could all use more joy, more often.
Today is also "no really, you will finish or at least get a respectable leg up on chapter three" day. And, well, I'm 2,000 words into what is going to be the chapter from hell and while I spin off into the ether, wondering what the hell I was thinking and how anyone could be interested and all those other thoughts writers have on days when the writing Is Not Going Well, I thought there might be a TSCC fan out there who might get a kick out of reading a snippet from the enormous Sarah Connor Chronicles fic that is currently marinating on my hard drive. That said, this snippet itself is... not exactly joyous, eh?
Sarah lay in the bed, her IV hooked onto the lampshade, the outline of the bandages around her waist visible even under the layers of sheet and blankets.
"I die don't I?" Sarah said.
"Hey, my cooking's not that bad."
She turned her head towards the windows.
"In the future. I die."
Derek focused on the stove in the motel room's tiny kitchenette, on
stirring the tomato soup so it didn't boil over, as the silence
pressed down on him.
"I don't know. John never talked about you much."
He heard her snort of disbelief as he took the soup off the heat.
"You're lying. I'm the legendary Sarah Connor, the one who raised John
Connor, trained him to be a hero... the saviour of mankind."
Derek winced. He filled a bowl full of soup and picked up a towel,
draping it over his shoulder, and carried the soup and a spoon over to
the bed.
"John was conceived in a room just like this."
He felt the tips of his ears flush pink. "All right, no more morphine for you."
He sat on the chair beside the bed and set soup and spoon on the
bedside table so he could tuck the towel around her neck and
shoulders. He picked up the bowl, "You need to eat some of this."
She ignored him, her eyes on the yellow light coming in through the
dingy curtains as outside the afternoon melted into evening. "I never
thought about it before he was born -"
"Sarah," he held the spoon to her lips. She shook her head.
"After, holding him, I couldn't stop thinking about it. The stories
Kyle told me, about John, about what he did in the future -"
"Sarah, " he tried again, louder, to get her attention, put a brake on
her train of thought. "You need to eat."
Like a child, she twisted her head farther away from the proffered spoon.
"Alone," she said. "He was alone against the machines because I wasn't there.
"Because I died."
Derek wanted to howl. He wanted to grab Sarah by the neck and force
the soup down her throat. It was like the worst days after the bombs,
when Kyle figured out his lies, realized that their parents were never
coming, that they and everything Kyle had known and loved was dead.
That nothing would ever be the same. Derek set the bowl back down on the
table and braced his hands on the top of his thighs.
"John... Connor never talks about it," Derek swallowed to buy time to
find the words, "But people talk. They say you're still fighting, out
in the junkyard, watching over us the way you watched over John."
Sarah looked at him, her green eyes sea-dark in the afternoon light, a
sad smile lifting the edges of her mouth. "And you believe them?"
He tried to answer. The lie jammed in his throat. Sarah turned back to
the window.
"I lived my entire life knowing I was going to die, leave John alone.
I would watch him sleep and wonder how much longer I had. How much
time to get him ready, make sure he could survive without me. I dream
about dying. Over and over again..."
Derek didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear any of this.
"I used to think I wanted to know how it happened. So I could be ready
for it. Get John ready for it. Jesus, I thought that would make it
easier." Sarah laughed and the laughter turned to coughing. She grimaced and
clutched at her wound, curling herself around it.
He got up from the chair like he was shot out of gun and took another dose of
morphine out of the medkit. He reached for her IV and inserted the
needle into injection port. She watched him depress the plunger and
started laughing again, pounding her fist against the bedding as the
laughter sent waves of pain across her abdomen.
"What's so funny?"
Sarah lay back against the pillows, her expression already mellowing
as the drug worked into her system.
"Have you ever done first aid on a dead woman before?" she asked. She
nestled her shoulders into the pillows.
"Jesus." Derek capped the used needle and threw it into the trashcan
on the other side of the nightstand. "You're not dead, Sarah. You're
gonna be just fine."
"Don't you get it? I'm already dead. I died nearly three years ago.
Leaukemia," Her eyes fluttered shut and her speech slurred but Derek
could still hear her clearly as she said "Sarah Connor, born October
10, 1965, died December 5, 2005."
"Jesus." He stared at her, watching as the drug pulled her down. "Jesus."
She shivered and frowned - shot, drugged, delerious and still fighting
against sleep, against whatever waited for her in her dreams. Derek
stepped forward and tucked her arms under the blankets, pulled them up
to her chin and tucked her in as he hadn't done since Kyle was a kid.
He reached and stroked the hair back from her face.
"Sleep tight, Sarah."
Today is also "no really, you will finish or at least get a respectable leg up on chapter three" day. And, well, I'm 2,000 words into what is going to be the chapter from hell and while I spin off into the ether, wondering what the hell I was thinking and how anyone could be interested and all those other thoughts writers have on days when the writing Is Not Going Well, I thought there might be a TSCC fan out there who might get a kick out of reading a snippet from the enormous Sarah Connor Chronicles fic that is currently marinating on my hard drive. That said, this snippet itself is... not exactly joyous, eh?
Sarah lay in the bed, her IV hooked onto the lampshade, the outline of the bandages around her waist visible even under the layers of sheet and blankets.
"I die don't I?" Sarah said.
"Hey, my cooking's not that bad."
She turned her head towards the windows.
"In the future. I die."
Derek focused on the stove in the motel room's tiny kitchenette, on
stirring the tomato soup so it didn't boil over, as the silence
pressed down on him.
"I don't know. John never talked about you much."
He heard her snort of disbelief as he took the soup off the heat.
"You're lying. I'm the legendary Sarah Connor, the one who raised John
Connor, trained him to be a hero... the saviour of mankind."
Derek winced. He filled a bowl full of soup and picked up a towel,
draping it over his shoulder, and carried the soup and a spoon over to
the bed.
"John was conceived in a room just like this."
He felt the tips of his ears flush pink. "All right, no more morphine for you."
He sat on the chair beside the bed and set soup and spoon on the
bedside table so he could tuck the towel around her neck and
shoulders. He picked up the bowl, "You need to eat some of this."
She ignored him, her eyes on the yellow light coming in through the
dingy curtains as outside the afternoon melted into evening. "I never
thought about it before he was born -"
"Sarah," he held the spoon to her lips. She shook her head.
"After, holding him, I couldn't stop thinking about it. The stories
Kyle told me, about John, about what he did in the future -"
"Sarah, " he tried again, louder, to get her attention, put a brake on
her train of thought. "You need to eat."
Like a child, she twisted her head farther away from the proffered spoon.
"Alone," she said. "He was alone against the machines because I wasn't there.
"Because I died."
Derek wanted to howl. He wanted to grab Sarah by the neck and force
the soup down her throat. It was like the worst days after the bombs,
when Kyle figured out his lies, realized that their parents were never
coming, that they and everything Kyle had known and loved was dead.
That nothing would ever be the same. Derek set the bowl back down on the
table and braced his hands on the top of his thighs.
"John... Connor never talks about it," Derek swallowed to buy time to
find the words, "But people talk. They say you're still fighting, out
in the junkyard, watching over us the way you watched over John."
Sarah looked at him, her green eyes sea-dark in the afternoon light, a
sad smile lifting the edges of her mouth. "And you believe them?"
He tried to answer. The lie jammed in his throat. Sarah turned back to
the window.
"I lived my entire life knowing I was going to die, leave John alone.
I would watch him sleep and wonder how much longer I had. How much
time to get him ready, make sure he could survive without me. I dream
about dying. Over and over again..."
Derek didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to hear any of this.
"I used to think I wanted to know how it happened. So I could be ready
for it. Get John ready for it. Jesus, I thought that would make it
easier." Sarah laughed and the laughter turned to coughing. She grimaced and
clutched at her wound, curling herself around it.
He got up from the chair like he was shot out of gun and took another dose of
morphine out of the medkit. He reached for her IV and inserted the
needle into injection port. She watched him depress the plunger and
started laughing again, pounding her fist against the bedding as the
laughter sent waves of pain across her abdomen.
"What's so funny?"
Sarah lay back against the pillows, her expression already mellowing
as the drug worked into her system.
"Have you ever done first aid on a dead woman before?" she asked. She
nestled her shoulders into the pillows.
"Jesus." Derek capped the used needle and threw it into the trashcan
on the other side of the nightstand. "You're not dead, Sarah. You're
gonna be just fine."
"Don't you get it? I'm already dead. I died nearly three years ago.
Leaukemia," Her eyes fluttered shut and her speech slurred but Derek
could still hear her clearly as she said "Sarah Connor, born October
10, 1965, died December 5, 2005."
"Jesus." He stared at her, watching as the drug pulled her down. "Jesus."
She shivered and frowned - shot, drugged, delerious and still fighting
against sleep, against whatever waited for her in her dreams. Derek
stepped forward and tucked her arms under the blankets, pulled them up
to her chin and tucked her in as he hadn't done since Kyle was a kid.
He reached and stroked the hair back from her face.
"Sleep tight, Sarah."