Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Day 19. NaNoWriMo and NaBloPoMo

“So when are you getting out of here?”  His voice was tense.  He was clearly uncomfortable being there, not that he really was there, but it was apparently too much for him even holographically.

“I’m not sure,” Joan replied, picking at her cuticle and pushing it back toward her knuckle.  No reason to get hangnails just because she’s locked up in the loony bin.  “They don’t tell me much.”

“Are you doing everything they tell you to do?”

“Yes.”  Her voice was testy.  She was very attuned to any inference that this was her fault or that she was drawing the process out for her own gain.

“I don’t get it then.  Why aren’t they letting you come home?  Can I talk to them?”

“If you want.  I’m not sure what that would do—if it would help.”

“Why wouldn’t it help?  I can just tell them you’re fine.  You seem exactly the same to me as you’ve always been.”

“I think they want me to say I didn’t see the car.”

“So...say that.”  He was almost sarcastic.

“I can’t.  That’s a lie.”

“You lie all the time.  Just last week you told me you were going to work and when I called they said you had called in.”

“That’s not a real lie.  If I tell them I didn’t see it—I’m either lying then or I’m lying now.”

“But it gets you out of here and home.”

Home.  She didn’t even want to think about what home looked like right now.  It taxed her sense of realism to believe she had been keeping it clean.  The cat was probably dead.  Or not.  Both outcomes were equally likely, so in her mind they both seemed real.

Need to play catch up?  Read the rest.

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