otter_nanowrimo: (Lemmings fall)
I really love what I just wrote over at my first #antidiogenes word war of the day, so I'm posting it now, public so I can share it ^_^ 534 new words, a few of them blatantly ripped off from John Green.

I jumped forward to the Fall because I hadn't yet spent the time necessary to figure out what I'm doing with the Prologue and I cannot just jump into Part One. So this is the very tail end of Part One and the opening scene of Part Two.

Clever readers will notice a tense shift :) This is intentional; do not panic.

I obeyed.

I did not say, Come down and talk to me.

I did not say, Step back away from that edge.

I did not say, Let me come up to you.

I did not say, I believe in you. I love you.

I walked where he told me to walk, stood where he told me to stand, and watched what he told me to watch.


I can't see anything but him falling.

Even after he falls out of sight, even after he must have landed on the pavement I can't see, with a sickening crunch I only imagine I can hear, all I see is him falling, arms flailing, coat flapping.

I started to stumble towards him, to catch him maybe, and something slams into my shoulder and sends me spinning to the ground. I lie there for a half-second, stunned, thinking, Now I'm falling too, Sherlock, but of course by the time I've had this thought I've already landed. Then I get up, push myself with huge effort to my feet. It was a bicyclist, and he didn't even stop to ask if I was all right.

I think I hit my head. Or maybe I'm just in shock. It doesn't matter; shock or concussion, I can treat those later. Sherlock needs me, he needs me to catch him, he needs me to treat his wounds.

There's a crowd gathered around a spot on the pavement. I need to get to that spot, I need to catch him. I try to push back, hearing my own voice begging, unfamiliar: "Let me through please, I'm a doctor, let me through, please. He's my friend. Please." They try to hold me back, but I break through far enough to see him lying on the ground.

"Oh, God, no."

He's already landed. Of course he has. Even though I can still see him falling, he's already landed, blood pooling on the pavement, his eyes--oh God. His eyes open and blank and dull.


My leg gives out. The woman beside me catches me, and I turn my head to hide from the sight of him, but I can't close my eyes, I can't look away. He said, "Keep your eyes fixed on me. Please, will you do this for me?" He said please. I have to.

I keep my eyes fixed on him as they load him onto a gurney, wheel him into the hospital. I keep my eyes fixed on him until he's taken away from me. And then I turn my eyes upward, where I can still see him falling, and I keep my eyes fixed on him there.

I learn that I don't need to be standing on the pavement outside Bart's to keep my eyes fixed on him. Policemen come, chivvy me into the back of the car. I resist at first, but they pull me away and I can still see him falling. I can still keep my eyes fixed on him, so I can go with them.

There's a drive. Familiar streets, familiar halls, an unfamiliar room. A blank room, a table, a mirror on one wall. I can still see him falling.
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The Lap Otter

November 2013

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