| nurse: |
There she is, in the garden. She sits there every day from late evening, and she'd stay there all night if we didn't bring her back inside when it gets too late. And she reads, doctor. The Bible. Every day.
::the doctor nods, walks out and goes to R:: |
| doctor: |
Hello my dear. Are you feeling better today?
::R ignores him, continues to stare at the open Bible in her hands:: |
| doctor: | They say the Bible gives comfort to people. |
| R: |
Yeah. Some do.
::they are both silent:: |
| doctor: | Does reading the Bible make you feel more happy? |
| R: | Maybe. |
| doctor: | Now, now, what have we agreed on answers like that? |
| R: | If you're so desperate to find out what I'm thinking, then why don't you just go and read my writings? That's what you all always do. To all of us. Especially private ones... |
| doctor: | We're trying to get you better, you know. It's for your own good. That way we can stop potent suicides. |
| R: | Yeah. I know, stupid. But excuse me for not liking it, not having anything my own. Really just mine. |
| doctor: | But you have private things. All patients get more of them the more they progress.You've got no one else to blame for but yourself, you know. You could try harder. |
| R: | Oh, I do alright. |
| doctor: | No. You don't try enough. You know, sometimes I get the feeling like you don't want to heal. That makes me sad. I care about you, and like I wish for all my patients, I want you to be happy. |
| R: |
Right now the happy me would be alone. With her book. 'Kay?
::The doctor sighs:: |
| doctor: | Come inside R. It's late, time for sleep. |
| R: | For once I'd like to stay here all night. Way after midnight at least. |
| doctor: | You are not allowed to do that because- |
| R: | Yeah, I know. You've told me that dozens of times. My memory ain't that bad. |
| doctor: | But you don't really want to die, do you? |
| R: | Yeah, I do. I do, as a matter of fact. Everything would be easier then. |
| doctor: | Easier? As a spirit, a ghost? Heaven, hell? |
| R: | None of the above. |
| doctor: | Then what? |
| R: | Ecclesiastes 9:5. Around the middle. --but as for the dead, they are conscious for nothing at all--. |
| doctor: | Conscious.. for nothing at all? |
| R: | Unconscious. Asleep, in some versions. Sounds good, don' it? |
| doctor: | Unaware of everything? |
| R: | Yeah. Better than this life. |
| doctor: | And the reasons why this life is so horrible? |
| R: |
OMG horrible! It just is.
::She shrugs:: |
| doctor: | There are reasons. Could you tell me? |
| R: |
Well, uh...
::She squints her eyes:: There's so much crime and no one cares about anyone and it all just makes me so damn sad. |
| doctor: | R... please, don't lie to me. |
| R: |
Okay, none of that. That was just a joke.
::She laughs hollowly:: |
| doctor: | Though a very good point in any case. The world is in a sorry state. |
| R: | Couldn't care less. |
| doctor: | But surely you do a bit? |
| R: | Not really, no. Hey, as long as it's not me! |
| doctor: | That's not very considerate. |
| R: | So? |
| doctor: | ... Reasons? |
| R: | Depression. Low self-esteem, whatever else you've diagnosed me to have. The firm belief that I can't do anything good, really. |
| doctor: | I'm sure you can. |
| R: | Not the point. Do you know what sin means? |
| doctor: | Doing something wrong, I presume. |
| R: | Not quite. Actually, its real meaning is 'to miss'. Kind of. |
| doctor: | Miss what? |
| R: | Miss being perfect. No one can, so sin is unavoidable. |
| doctor: | Well, yes. They say no one is perfect. |
| R: | Yeah, but at least some people regret their sins. For real. They feel bad about them. I don't. Not... really. I think. |
| doctor: | But you do feel bad. |
| R: | Yeah, but it's different. |
| doctor: | In what way? |
| R: | ... It's more like... Romans 6:7 - For he who has died has been acquitted from his sin. |
| doctor: | Ah. Now, you quote the Bible a lot. I thought it was possible to ask for forgiveness from God, yes? |
| R: | Yes... but it's... I never have. |
| doctor: | Why not? It might make you feel better. |
| R: |
Because...
::She fumbles with her necklace:: I'm frightened. |
| doctor: | Of what? |
| R: | What if I'm not forgiven? |
| doctor: | Surely your loving God would understand you. |
| R: | I think He knows me better than I do, and that might be bad. |
| doctor: | Why? |
| R: | Well, I could ask for forgiveness, but later on I'd just commit the same sins again. And again. And eventually I wouldn't feel sorry anymore, and it's... it just don't work if you don't regret. |
| doctor: | Maybe deep in your heart you do. |
| R: |
No. That's okay, doc. I've given up on that long time ago.
::She smiles sadly:: I'm just not good enough. |
| doctor: | So you think. But that may not always be true. |
| R: | I'm just... too scared to try. |
| doctor: | Still afraid of the possible, I see. |
| R: |
Yeah. I guess so.
::She shrugs:: |
| She gently lowered the Bible onto the otherwise empty coffee table. She slowly rose and stood looking around sadly for a moment. Then she left the living room. Faint clinking came from unseen cabinets. She returned, went back to the sofa and placed a small, white medicine bottle and a larger glass bottle of alcoholic drink on the table, on both sides of the Bible. She opened the white bottle and poured all of its contents onto the table. A tiny pile of white tablets rose next to the Bible. She dropped the empty white bottle to the floor. |
| She opened the glass bottle and took a quick swig. She grimaced. |
| She took most of the tablets and began to swallow them one by one. Between every few she drank from the glass bottle. |
| The alcohol made her head feel really fuzzy and she got unsteadily on her feet. Her computer was humming on a nearby table. The notepad was on, and she had typed something in it. |
|
It read: 'Psalms 34:18 -
"Lord is near to those that are broken at heart; And those who are crushed in spirit he saves." I'm sorry. I just find that hard to believe, that it could ever apply to me. I'm sorry. I' |
|
She staggered. The glass bottle she had been holding dropped and smashed to the floor. Liquid splashed her feet.
She staggered. There was blood on the floor, where she had stepped on the shards of the broken glass bottle with her bare feet. She staggered. Her sight began to blur and darken. She fell. She lay there, sprawled, her long hair wet from the liquid on the floor. For a brief moment more she was just unconscious. Then... |