DISCLAIMER: No, I don't any of the EE characters, etc, yes this is my work, no-one elses.
Oh, and a summary isn't really a good thing for this piece. But it's raining,
and people are thinking about the past.
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Absent Without Leave
by Becky Thomson/Diana McKenzie
It's raining outside, I can hear it. It brings it all back, the rain. Every time it rains. It's always on my mind even when it isn't raining, but it's all I can think about when it does. The water hits the glass of the window and the concrete of the pavements outside.
It's been over a year now, and although some people tell me it's time to stop thinking about it, I know I can't. The wound is still too fresh, and it hurts too much. It is comforting to know that the people who were closest to him still haven't given up hope. We all agree it's too soon, those of us who knew him the best, and cared about him the most.
As I said, the rain reminds me of it all. It was raining the last time I saw him. Throwing it down. I'm sure you could have heard it in a sound-proof room. I told him it was stupid to go out in such terrible weather, but he just laughed, and told me he knew I was right. He said he had to go. I thought he was going to do a rescue. I know what he's like, he wouldn't let rain stop him. But now I'm not so sure. I'm not sure whether it was a rescue, and I'm not sure if I knew him. I'm not sure at all. I just hope I'm being paranoid when I think he might of left on purpose.
I wonder where he is. I wonder all the time. It's a thought which I can' t lay to rest. I hang onto the belief that he's still out there somewhere, but there's always the terrible worry in the back of my mind that he's dead. My heart does a leap in my chest every time that I hear of a body being found somewhere, fearing that one of these days that it's going to be him. If that.ever happened, I think I would consider myself lucky not to have to see. To see what had happened to him. That's selfish I suppose, but I can't help it. It's not as if I can, but even if I *could* see it, I don't think I would want to. I suppose sometimes my blindness can be a blessing.
I pray he's still out there, and that he's alright.
I hope that one day he'll pick up the phone and call me. I wouldn't even
care if he didn't tell me where he was. I just want to know he's ok. Just
to hear him say: "Marissa, it's me Gary. You don't have to worry, I'm alright."
would be like a gift from heaven. The idea that I'll never see him again
is like torture. I know I never saw his face, but I saw his soul. I'm sure
I saw him for who he really was. No, *is* not was. He has a beautiful
soul. It's gentle, like
him. I admire what he does. Or did. I don't know whether he still gets the paper wherever he is, but whether he does or not, it takes someone special to put up with everything the paper can throw at them. You can't help but admire Gary for how he takes it all. He truly is one of a kind. I wish I had told him these things. I wish I'd just taken a moment to tell him how much he means to me. He's a true friend, and getting by without him..well it's tough. I miss you Gary, probably more than you'd realise. God has to be with you Gary, he just has to be. There has to be someone watching over you.
It's still raining. I wonder if it's raining wherever you are Gary.
It's raining outside. I can hear it, almost see it, even through the curtains. I can see from the clock that it's late. Or early, depending on your viewpoint. It tells me it's three in the morning. It's so cold in here. The blankets are too thin, and the room here costs too much. They all do. Wherever you go, it's almost always the same.
I can't sleep, so I'll probably just lie here for a
while, and listen to the rain. It reminds me of Chicago on the day I left.
It was raining then as well. But that didn't really matter did it? I had
had enough, it was time to go. It was the paper. I tried to stop thinking
about how long I'd been getting it for, but I couldn't. I mean, it has been
keeping me from living my life for so, so long now. I don't care what Marissa
kept telling me, all the opportunities that the paper has snatched from
me keep haunting me,
especially in my dreams.
Marissa. Damn. I can't help feeling bad about not telling her that I was leaving, but I couldn't. She would have only tried to stop me, and, to be honest, if she had tried to persuade me, she might have succeeded. Not because I didn't want to leave, but because she's Marissa. She's always had wonderful powers of persuasion. I also feel bad, because I'm pretty sure I've hurt her by keeping away. I'm sorry Marissa. I would love to talk to you again, or write you a letter, but I don't dare to even *think* about where I am right now. Somehow I think that, if I do, the cat'll find me and bring me the paper. And I don't want that. I think I've finally lost the cat, or or confused it, or something. Finally outrun it. It's about time as well, after trying to escape it for so long. For a long, *long* time it didn't matter where I went, it would follow me. I don't just mean in Chicago either. I went many places trying to lose it. Now I think I have.
It's lonely here, but it was fairly lonely back in Chicago as well. I know there were people around me there, but I rarely ever saw them outside of the paper's demands. It was hard to have a life with the paper, but when I look at what I have now, it almost seems that it's hard for me to have a life without the paper. Could it be that these past couple of years have just been someone's idea of a joke? Could it be that someone is just out to torment me? Because even though I'm currently eluding the paper, every time I see a cat, or hear one meowing I can't help but look around, just in case. Though I don't know what I'd do if I saw the cat again. Or if I saw a newspaper again. I can't buy them anymore, or watch the news. Both make me feel uncomfortable. They're both too familiar. Maybe I'll go back to Chicago someday. Maybe. Not now though. I'm not ready yet. Perhaps I never will be.
It's still raining. I wonder if it's raining in Chicago.
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