Laura Palmer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
already_lost) wrote2020-07-29 10:21 pm
already_lost) wrote2020-07-29 10:21 pm
For Chuck
It came to her in flashes, these dreams that lingered in her mind throughout the day. They weren't the nightmares that plagued her in her teens, leaving her gripped by terror and afraid to be alone at night. They weren't the dreams she used to have of the red room, of the old man in the suit, her lips brushing his ear.
I know who killed me...
These weren't dreams at all, she thought. They were memories, though she couldn't be sure that they were her own.
She remembered a room, leeched of color. Vaulted ceilings. A woman with a round face and glittering jewels in her hair. A tall man, his face gaunt and expressionless. She recalled the feeling of bright, blinding joy, and crushing, hollow ache of loss. She recalled the utter, chaotic destruction of an atom bomb, and the pain of rebirth after. Shades of grey and searing, beauteous gold.
The chaos of her living room, dirty and disordered in a way Sara Palmer never allowed it to be... and the constant, warbling scratch of a needle across vinyl.
She woke with a gasp, in the small hours of the morning, the taste of cigarette ash on her tongue. She sat, clutching at her throat, unsure whether the sound she made was an anguished sob or the clanging bell of hysterical laughter.
I know who killed me...
These weren't dreams at all, she thought. They were memories, though she couldn't be sure that they were her own.
She remembered a room, leeched of color. Vaulted ceilings. A woman with a round face and glittering jewels in her hair. A tall man, his face gaunt and expressionless. She recalled the feeling of bright, blinding joy, and crushing, hollow ache of loss. She recalled the utter, chaotic destruction of an atom bomb, and the pain of rebirth after. Shades of grey and searing, beauteous gold.
The chaos of her living room, dirty and disordered in a way Sara Palmer never allowed it to be... and the constant, warbling scratch of a needle across vinyl.
She woke with a gasp, in the small hours of the morning, the taste of cigarette ash on her tongue. She sat, clutching at her throat, unsure whether the sound she made was an anguished sob or the clanging bell of hysterical laughter.
no subject
"Fine," she said breezily, striding through the apartment and stooping to snatch a slouchy sweatshirt off of the floor and yanking it on over the top of her nightie.
no subject
No matter what he does, he suspects, it's going to be wrong.
After a moment, he follows her a few paces, though he lingers back in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "I don't know what else you want me to say," he says, shrugging helplessly.
no subject
"I'll call you tomorrow," she said, slipping into the living room and sitting on the arm of a chair while she rummaged in her purse, double-checking to make sure she had everything important.