Forgiveness - Fic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
scifi_muses
Oct. 5th, 2009 08:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
open_flameCharacter: Liz Sherman
Fandom: Hellboy
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 465
Prompt:scifi_muses Vol 2. Week 9
Arturo Bandini: Sick in my soul I tried to face the ordeal of seeking forgiveness. From whom? What God, what Christ? They were myths I once believed and now they were beliefs I felt were myths.
Setting: Pre-Hellboy I
AN: More Liz in Bellamie. Why does she think about that place so much?
He didn’t even look at me. He knows I’m not crazy, or disturbed or psychotic. He does know I’m dangerous, though. That’s why he won’t look at me.
“How does that make you feel?” His eyes are fixed on the chart in front of him.
“Guilty. Sad. Regretful.” I sound like a broken record. Every shrink that comes to see me asks the same damn questions and I always give the same damn answers. Are they even listening? They keep asking me the same questions, the same ones for months now. I have no idea what they’re writing in those charts. Sometimes I get more lithium or something like that. Sometimes I get less. More is better; more drugs equal more control. Well, not so much control, but less emotion. Both roads lead to the same place.
“Why do you think you feel this way?” He doesn’t look up this time either. He keeps asking the “safe” questions; the list of pre-approved topics that aren’t supposed to upset me and won’t make me flare up.
“Why do you think?” I snap back, growing annoyed with the same thing over and over again.
It reminds me of something funny. Well, not so funny, really. There’s a poster in the employee break room; you can see it when the door swings open. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” A poster that says that in a psychiatric hospital; it would be amusing, if it weren’t so damned depressing.
“Why do you think you feel this way?” He says again, clearly not satisfied with my non-answer.
“Because I killed people!” I can see him jump before I see my hand go up in bright blue flames. I’m not supposed to shout at the doctors, or go up in flames. What did he expect? Therapy is supposed to help, and he’s not helping.
“We’re done.” He stood quickly and walked to the door. I heard it swing open with a squeak as I drew the flames back into me as the nurse rushed in with a tranquilizer shot. It always ends the same way. This time, though, the doctor is still standing in the doorway as they jab me with the needle.
“What do you want?” He crosses his arms and meets my eyes for the first time today. He knows the shot will keep me from flaring. Now he asks the real questions. Now he’s getting somewhere.
“Forgiveness.” I can feel my head growing fuzzy as the shot flows through my blood.
“From whom?” I can hardly hear him, my body's going numb, my mind blanking out. I’ll be out for the rest of the day, I know from experience.
“I don’t know.” It’s not a lie. I have no idea where to look for forgiveness. All I know is I need it.
Fandom: Hellboy
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 465
Prompt:
scifi_muses Vol 2. Week 9Arturo Bandini: Sick in my soul I tried to face the ordeal of seeking forgiveness. From whom? What God, what Christ? They were myths I once believed and now they were beliefs I felt were myths.
Setting: Pre-Hellboy I
AN: More Liz in Bellamie. Why does she think about that place so much?
He didn’t even look at me. He knows I’m not crazy, or disturbed or psychotic. He does know I’m dangerous, though. That’s why he won’t look at me.
“How does that make you feel?” His eyes are fixed on the chart in front of him.
“Guilty. Sad. Regretful.” I sound like a broken record. Every shrink that comes to see me asks the same damn questions and I always give the same damn answers. Are they even listening? They keep asking me the same questions, the same ones for months now. I have no idea what they’re writing in those charts. Sometimes I get more lithium or something like that. Sometimes I get less. More is better; more drugs equal more control. Well, not so much control, but less emotion. Both roads lead to the same place.
“Why do you think you feel this way?” He doesn’t look up this time either. He keeps asking the “safe” questions; the list of pre-approved topics that aren’t supposed to upset me and won’t make me flare up.
“Why do you think?” I snap back, growing annoyed with the same thing over and over again.
It reminds me of something funny. Well, not so funny, really. There’s a poster in the employee break room; you can see it when the door swings open. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” A poster that says that in a psychiatric hospital; it would be amusing, if it weren’t so damned depressing.
“Why do you think you feel this way?” He says again, clearly not satisfied with my non-answer.
“Because I killed people!” I can see him jump before I see my hand go up in bright blue flames. I’m not supposed to shout at the doctors, or go up in flames. What did he expect? Therapy is supposed to help, and he’s not helping.
“We’re done.” He stood quickly and walked to the door. I heard it swing open with a squeak as I drew the flames back into me as the nurse rushed in with a tranquilizer shot. It always ends the same way. This time, though, the doctor is still standing in the doorway as they jab me with the needle.
“What do you want?” He crosses his arms and meets my eyes for the first time today. He knows the shot will keep me from flaring. Now he asks the real questions. Now he’s getting somewhere.
“Forgiveness.” I can feel my head growing fuzzy as the shot flows through my blood.
“From whom?” I can hardly hear him, my body's going numb, my mind blanking out. I’ll be out for the rest of the day, I know from experience.
“I don’t know.” It’s not a lie. I have no idea where to look for forgiveness. All I know is I need it.
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