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 Visiting Hours

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Jay
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PostSubject: Visiting Hours   Wed Feb 10, 2016 7:49 pm

Maisie ripped the flower petal by petal. She stared at Jonathan, laying there like some pathetic vegetable, and passed the time. She always had to do something. She was too uneasy all the time, too overcome by the pangs of a slight nicotine addiction. She couldn't smoke when he was like that, however, couldn't smoke in her current mindset. She was worried. She hated being like that, but she was worried, and she hated him for making her feel that way, and decided he didn't need flowers for being such a piece of shit. She tore it off its stem. She grabbed another, and got to work.

There was a point in time where she would tell her mother she wanted to be a doctor. Her mother entertained the idea of being a nurse, but she endured. Nothing but a doctor. She'd go all the way. She'd skip nursehood entirely. She would be able to save vegetables like Jonathan. She eyed his unconscious form, and knew she could do nothing. And with a sigh, feeling safe from eyes in that empty infirmary, Maisie tossed the half-ripped up flower to the ground. She reached into her bag, hands cold, and pulled a manga out, some stupid thing she sneaked out of the library. She stole it. She stole a free book.

Maisie opened it, gave Jonathan one last glare, and began to read.

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PostSubject: Re: Visiting Hours   Sat Feb 13, 2016 4:08 am

His body was fixed. Not an imperfection in sight, not even a scar from his wounds remained. His unblemished skin was a miracle that came at a heavy cost, but still, Jonathan Kent didn't wake up.

"Men are weak, Jonathan." Diana said to him, her hands were busy meticulously folding clothing after clothing, slotting them into her hard-shelled travel suitcase. Her light brown hair trailed over her shoulder, forming a curtain that hid her face from him as she quickly put away close to half of all her business and casual clothes. Every now and then, she'd pause, lifting an article of clothing closer to her face as if she was reminiscing about something. Those clothes weren't included, they were tossed on the floor.

This scene was familiar to him. He'd seen it play out multiple times. He'd sit by her, fiddling with the bed spread beneath him as she do whatever she needed to do. Eventually she'd be done, and she'd say the usual things. 'I'm sorry... Your brother's too young to be apart from me... You're better off with your father... I still love you... You're my son too...' She'd smile at him, pinched and forced, not quite meeting his eyes as she'd pull him into an embrace. Her silky hair would blind him to anything other than her and her perfume, Christian Dior Poison.

The moment his father's footsteps could be heard near the doorway, she'd tense up and release him. She'd pet his head, his pink locks catching her attention and she'd frown, before she'd take her bag to leave. Clark would always offer to help with her bag, Diana would always refuse. A song and dance he was used to.

The only deviation from the scene was Diana. It was time for her to let him go, Clark was coming over now. He would look suitably apologetic, pained as if he didn't mean for all those late nights spent with Auntie Lois and Auntie Vicki. But she wouldn't let him go.

"You're weak." She whispered, holding him close, crushing his ribs against her chest. Her hair muffled his pleas, he couldn't breathe. The gentle rays of the sun drifting through the window made her black locks shine, sleeker than the pelt of the black cats that liked to roam Hyde Park. "You could have saved me." Her nails dug into his skin, hard enough he felt hot pin pricks of blood burst forth. "You left me alone." Her blonde hair covered his eyes, the world faded to darkness. She sounded so pained, he couldn't even feel the crescent shaped imprints that were drawing blood from him. He was fading away, the world becoming a fuzzy cacophony of noise and sensation, but he didn't want to be free anymore. Jonathan just wanted to talk. If he could, he'd say to her.

"I'm sorry."

At 3pm, Monday, Jonathan Kent woke up.

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PostSubject: Re: Visiting Hours   Sat Feb 13, 2016 9:16 am

Tick. Tick. Tick. It was funny how a clock's metronomic whirs could so easily forfeit themselves to silence. Maisie did not notice them when she had come in, did not play any heed to their existence as she read her book. They existed to remind. Tick tick tick. Maisie peeked past her book as the sound floated back into her remind, up at the clock whose second hand brushed past its firm counterpart, the bolded, shorter hand steadfast on 3. 3 o'clock. And she looked down and saw eyes.

Maisie didn't put down the manga, so much as drop it onto her bag. She didn't do anything else. She watched him, staring, like he would explode or just close his eyes again or crumble apart like a decoy. The seconds blended to a halt. Tick. Tiiick. Tiiiiiiiii--. She breathed. Exhaling time to return to her.

"Good morning."

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PostSubject: Re: Visiting Hours   Sun Feb 14, 2016 7:18 pm

A white expanse was above him. The sunlight from the window gave it a off-white hue, but it was barely noticeable as the fluorescent lights countered with their bluish glow. Quiet. There was barely a sound in the room beyond the ticking of the clock, but distantly he could hear the chattering of children. He didn't need to look over or get up to know where he was, he was back.

Maisie's voice broke his gaze away from the ceiling as he turned to look at her. She looked the same, unchanged like the last time he'd left and come back to her. Or maybe she had changed, and he was just shit at noticing things. It was probably the latter.

"Good morning." He replied reflexively, not quite thinking clearly. It felt right. It was a good morning. He was alive. Jonathan hadn't quite expected to be alive, he'd thought that he'd awake to an endless inferno or lyrical hymns in the clouds. His hands shook slightly as he seated himself upright, but he didn't notice them. Everything felt a little disjointed right now, one tremor in the hands was barely worth noticing. "Nice day." He commented without much thought, a growing trend in his life at the moment.

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PostSubject: Re: Visiting Hours   Fri Mar 04, 2016 8:54 pm

Maisie swallowed. She stared back at him, heart beating in rhythm will the clock. It was her, ticking on without knowing how to stop, and her eyes had a certain nonchalance, like she was a housewive who just found out her husband died. And seeing his eyes, knowing she was a traitor to the student body, a traitor to him, it brought her little joy. Her heart lurched with uncertainty. She has hoped he would die so that she'd never have to betray him.

"You don't know what the day is like." The sun's rays did not grab that corner of the room. It was dark, a later afternoon sort of dark, the curtains drawn far enough that all they could see was the white tendrils of sun. They looked like heavenly arms. Was he really alive? Maybe he was passing on. The clock was louder than her thoughts, and she was wondering if it was a dream, if she'd wake up to find his stone on the hill past Rosebury. She'd visited there before, she would never visit there again.

"The day's...um, the day's poor."

She swallowed.

"Do you remember what happened?"

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