Panic. Freak out. Memory malfunction. She puts the thoughts away. Words gained.
Eleven takes a breath. Slow, like Hop always tells her too when her chest is too tight and she struggles. Let's the cool night air drag over her tongue like a sip of water, and down her throat and expand her narrow rib cage. Holds it there. Counts Mississipis without know what that even is, and without knowing how it's pronounced correctly either.
Slow breath out.
"Doctors. Soldiers."
The memory is a wound. She doesn't know if it will ever fully heal, just knows that it always bleeds. Sometimes hot with anger, sometimes cold like white tiles and syringes and his eyes.
no subject
Eleven takes a breath. Slow, like Hop always tells her too when her chest is too tight and she struggles. Let's the cool night air drag over her tongue like a sip of water, and down her throat and expand her narrow rib cage. Holds it there. Counts Mississipis without know what that even is, and without knowing how it's pronounced correctly either.
Slow breath out.
"Doctors. Soldiers."
The memory is a wound. She doesn't know if it will ever fully heal, just knows that it always bleeds. Sometimes hot with anger, sometimes cold like white tiles and syringes and his eyes.
"Papa."