[Theatrical Muse] Response
Mar. 12th, 2007 01:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
his_sarah_janeFragile.
When Sarah Jane was nine, she watched Mr. Higgings shoot a down a duck passing through the sky up overhead to demonstrate his rifle to the girl. It hadn’t deterred her away from wanting lessons (much to the grumpy old man’s initial dislike), but it had bothered her none the less. Because when the duck nosedived to the ground, she had only seen what she always imagined to be her parents’ death:
--it’s dark and the sun’s setting and it had rained earlier and the roads are still slick and the dark red Ford two-door sedan is speeding down the highway, the couple inside late for picking their daughter up from school, and they never see it coming, that lorry crossing at the cross-section.
The couple in the sedan are killed on impact, bones and blood mingled in with automobile parts--
And she had ran home crying, curling up in bed and hiding even when Aunt Lavinia came to check on her. But Sarah had still gone back the next day, pleading with Mr. Higgings to teach her how to use that rifle.
Life, she realised when watching the duck fall from the sky and seeing her parents’ death instead, was fragile. And so, she needed to be prepared.
What Sarah Jane never expected, however, was to be standing in a now empty room about fourteen years later, staring at headless female body at her feet.
A body that she had killed and even though it looked so very human (because it really, really did even if it was just a disguise), the Voracian wasn’t. It was some sort of cyborg creature, part organic and part cybernetic machine that had been intent on liberating the machines of late 20th century Earth. It was one of many in a group that had come.
It was one of many whose blood was now metaphorically on Sarah Jane’s hands.
She had screamed and quickly backed away, tripping over another body (this one reptilian and metallic, but still one that she had killed) as she stumbles back towards a wall and falls down, clutching her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands, sobbing hard.
The scenes keep playing themselves out in front of her: stealing the machine-gun from the Voracian who was attacking her and then firing from where she lay on the floor right when the alien was about to attack and watching in horror as the bullets caught the alien in the head and chest, and another round attacked the metal cheek plate leaving only a mess of oozing liquid, bones, and metal behind. Sarah saw again herself firing at another group, only vaguely aware that it was her gun making the sounds. And then there was the attack on Johanna – Johanna the Voracian who actually had a name and a human look to her when Sarah attacked, caught up in the primal instinct of defence.
There wasn’t any real blood on Sarah Jane’s hands, but she could feel it. There was something there, something that kept nagging at her as the picture began to replay:
--it’s dark and the sun’s setting and it had rained earlier and the roads are still slick and the dark red Ford two-door sedan is speeding down the highway, the couple inside late for picking their daughter up from school, and they never see it coming, that lorry crossing at the cross-section.
The couple in the sedan are killed on impact, bones and blood mingled in with automobile parts--
And life was so very fragile, wasn’t it? So very precious: something to be treasured and valued. Not stripped away from any individual, even machine, as easily as Sarah had done tonight. She had seen a lot travelling with the Doctor, she had done a lot, but there was one thing Sarah Jane had never done until tonight.
Until just now.
It was, as much as she despised clichés, kill or be killed in the most literal of senses. A small part of her brain reconciled the facts: if Sarah hadn’t shot the Voracians first, they would have killed her. But that part of the brain lost the battle tonight. Because, as she chokes on bile coming up her throat, gagging and heaving to the side, Sarah Jane had never felt sicker until now. Sick and horrible and guilty because she had killed with out caring.
Life was fragile, life was precious.
Life, for the Voracian bodies still scattered in the room with her, was over now.
Even when the Doctor walked in to the room, his voice calm and soothing even when his presence alone would do that, Sarah continued to cry. She cried until he walked over and hugged her, and even then, she didn’t feel as safe as she normally would.
Life was fragile. Her sense of security was even more.
[ooc: based on the events of System Shock by Justin Richards, one of the Doctor Who Missing Adventures novels.]
When Sarah Jane was nine, she watched Mr. Higgings shoot a down a duck passing through the sky up overhead to demonstrate his rifle to the girl. It hadn’t deterred her away from wanting lessons (much to the grumpy old man’s initial dislike), but it had bothered her none the less. Because when the duck nosedived to the ground, she had only seen what she always imagined to be her parents’ death:
--it’s dark and the sun’s setting and it had rained earlier and the roads are still slick and the dark red Ford two-door sedan is speeding down the highway, the couple inside late for picking their daughter up from school, and they never see it coming, that lorry crossing at the cross-section.
The couple in the sedan are killed on impact, bones and blood mingled in with automobile parts--
And she had ran home crying, curling up in bed and hiding even when Aunt Lavinia came to check on her. But Sarah had still gone back the next day, pleading with Mr. Higgings to teach her how to use that rifle.
Life, she realised when watching the duck fall from the sky and seeing her parents’ death instead, was fragile. And so, she needed to be prepared.
What Sarah Jane never expected, however, was to be standing in a now empty room about fourteen years later, staring at headless female body at her feet.
A body that she had killed and even though it looked so very human (because it really, really did even if it was just a disguise), the Voracian wasn’t. It was some sort of cyborg creature, part organic and part cybernetic machine that had been intent on liberating the machines of late 20th century Earth. It was one of many in a group that had come.
It was one of many whose blood was now metaphorically on Sarah Jane’s hands.
She had screamed and quickly backed away, tripping over another body (this one reptilian and metallic, but still one that she had killed) as she stumbles back towards a wall and falls down, clutching her knees to her chest and burying her face in her hands, sobbing hard.
The scenes keep playing themselves out in front of her: stealing the machine-gun from the Voracian who was attacking her and then firing from where she lay on the floor right when the alien was about to attack and watching in horror as the bullets caught the alien in the head and chest, and another round attacked the metal cheek plate leaving only a mess of oozing liquid, bones, and metal behind. Sarah saw again herself firing at another group, only vaguely aware that it was her gun making the sounds. And then there was the attack on Johanna – Johanna the Voracian who actually had a name and a human look to her when Sarah attacked, caught up in the primal instinct of defence.
There wasn’t any real blood on Sarah Jane’s hands, but she could feel it. There was something there, something that kept nagging at her as the picture began to replay:
--it’s dark and the sun’s setting and it had rained earlier and the roads are still slick and the dark red Ford two-door sedan is speeding down the highway, the couple inside late for picking their daughter up from school, and they never see it coming, that lorry crossing at the cross-section.
The couple in the sedan are killed on impact, bones and blood mingled in with automobile parts--
And life was so very fragile, wasn’t it? So very precious: something to be treasured and valued. Not stripped away from any individual, even machine, as easily as Sarah had done tonight. She had seen a lot travelling with the Doctor, she had done a lot, but there was one thing Sarah Jane had never done until tonight.
Until just now.
It was, as much as she despised clichés, kill or be killed in the most literal of senses. A small part of her brain reconciled the facts: if Sarah hadn’t shot the Voracians first, they would have killed her. But that part of the brain lost the battle tonight. Because, as she chokes on bile coming up her throat, gagging and heaving to the side, Sarah Jane had never felt sicker until now. Sick and horrible and guilty because she had killed with out caring.
Life was fragile, life was precious.
Life, for the Voracian bodies still scattered in the room with her, was over now.
Even when the Doctor walked in to the room, his voice calm and soothing even when his presence alone would do that, Sarah continued to cry. She cried until he walked over and hugged her, and even then, she didn’t feel as safe as she normally would.
Life was fragile. Her sense of security was even more.
[ooc: based on the events of System Shock by Justin Richards, one of the Doctor Who Missing Adventures novels.]
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Date: 2007-03-12 05:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-03-12 09:30 pm (UTC)