This is going to be a "creative writing" type post, and I'm not really sure how it's going to go. It's just past midnight, and I'm kind of afraid of how this post is going to turn out, but in a good way, if that makes sense?
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It was the kind of day where everything just seems off. Nothing is particularly or noticeably wrong or incorrect, there's just an atmosphere of discomfort. Delilah wanted desperately to stay home, just for today, because the sickness in the pit of her stomach tugged at her with such a force that it refused to be ignored. It was a normal symptom of her lifestyle, but it was one that was understandably least comfortable. The nausea was constant, with only brief moments of relief when she talked to a client, right before she had to do her job. Well, job isn't exactly the right word for it, because job implies that she can quit. Duty, maybe? No, because duty also implies an air of choice. Obligation would be the way to describe the task that Delilah and a few others have to do whenever they are needed.
"Ms. Rutherford?" a light voice chimed. "There's been another accident. You're needed at New Haven Hospital immediately."
"How many?" she grunted.
"I'm sorry?"
"How many families are there?" she sighed impatiently.
"Just one today, ma'am."
Delilah arrived at the hospital, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets and her hood covering her long, dark hair.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Are you here to see a patient?" a nurse in scrubs covered in ducks asked in an irritated tone.
Delilah looked straight at the nurse with cold brown eyes that pierced through her soul.
Taken aback, the nurse replied, "Oh, you must be the Douleur. Delilah is it? Delilah the Douleur, I wonder if your parents knew your fate and named you that on purpose, hm?" she let out a forced laugh. "I'll show you to the family now. Their daughter just passed away after being hit by a truck. She was supposed to start middle school in a week. She was home-schooled all her life. A tragic story, really."
They walked down the busy hospital corridor and found the parents of the young girl sitting in the waiting room, distraught and sobbing incessantly. Delilah pulled down her hood and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. She approached the couple with such a sense of indifference in her gait that gave her an air of confidence she didn't have. She sat down next to the woman with long, dark red hair and gentle blue eyes. Her face was flush from crying, and her make up was running, leaving black stains on her plump cheeks in the mascara's wake. It reminded Delilah of the watercolor painting she was working on in class before she was destined to be a Douleur. Before she understood why her stomach always ached. Before she understood why people seemed to feel comfortable about talking to her about their problems. Before, when she was happy and was capable of feeling an emotion other than happy's ugly counterpart.
"P-please," the woman with the red hair gasped through her sobs, "please make the p-pain st- stop. I can't live this way!"
Delilah placed her hand on the woman's wrist, and found her pulse. Closing her eyes, she could feel the woman's heart palpitations, and it slightly annoyed her.
"Why won't she calm down?" she thought, "it's so much easier when there's a steady heart rate."
But Delilah pressed on, knowing that there was no way to calm this woman down. After a moment, Delilah could feel the ache in her own heart, and the tears began to swell in her eyes. She could feel the woman's heart rate slowing as her pain escaped her body and released itself into Delilah. The pain flooded into Delilah's bloodstream and throughout her entire body within minutes. She jumped up as the overwhelming loss of something she didn't have filled her body. The nauseous feeling in her stomach intensified as she attempted to calm herself down, which was to no avail. She cringed and fell over; her body was limp and shaking.
Everyone around her pretended not to notice.
What seemed like an eternity later, Delilah gained enough strength to pull herself from the ground and get herself together.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am. Your daughter was an angel who will be greatly missed." she said, her voice hoarse.
"Thank you very much, Delilah. You don't know what you have done for me." the woman with the red hair said lightly.
Her eyes were no longer bloodshot, her skin was a normal, peachy tone; she almost seemed to radiate with happiness. Her wife who sat beside her, on the other hand, was still reeling from the loss of her daughter. Her green eyes bore into Delilah, begging her to touch her so she could feel better like her wife did.
"Am I next?" she asked.
"Oh, of course," Delilah replied, placing her hand on the green-eyed woman's wrist.
And the pain began again, and Delilah wondered if the pain would truly ever end.
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Okay that's it :) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I've been thinking about writing this story for a while actually, but I never took the time to write it. I plan on writing a book based on this story of Delilah the Douleur, because I have a ton of ideas on how to develop Delilah and the society itself and everything. I just have to find the time. Tell me what you think!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was the kind of day where everything just seems off. Nothing is particularly or noticeably wrong or incorrect, there's just an atmosphere of discomfort. Delilah wanted desperately to stay home, just for today, because the sickness in the pit of her stomach tugged at her with such a force that it refused to be ignored. It was a normal symptom of her lifestyle, but it was one that was understandably least comfortable. The nausea was constant, with only brief moments of relief when she talked to a client, right before she had to do her job. Well, job isn't exactly the right word for it, because job implies that she can quit. Duty, maybe? No, because duty also implies an air of choice. Obligation would be the way to describe the task that Delilah and a few others have to do whenever they are needed.
"Ms. Rutherford?" a light voice chimed. "There's been another accident. You're needed at New Haven Hospital immediately."
"How many?" she grunted.
"I'm sorry?"
"How many families are there?" she sighed impatiently.
"Just one today, ma'am."
Delilah arrived at the hospital, her hands stuffed in her jacket pockets and her hood covering her long, dark hair.
"Excuse me, ma'am? Are you here to see a patient?" a nurse in scrubs covered in ducks asked in an irritated tone.
Delilah looked straight at the nurse with cold brown eyes that pierced through her soul.
Taken aback, the nurse replied, "Oh, you must be the Douleur. Delilah is it? Delilah the Douleur, I wonder if your parents knew your fate and named you that on purpose, hm?" she let out a forced laugh. "I'll show you to the family now. Their daughter just passed away after being hit by a truck. She was supposed to start middle school in a week. She was home-schooled all her life. A tragic story, really."
They walked down the busy hospital corridor and found the parents of the young girl sitting in the waiting room, distraught and sobbing incessantly. Delilah pulled down her hood and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. She approached the couple with such a sense of indifference in her gait that gave her an air of confidence she didn't have. She sat down next to the woman with long, dark red hair and gentle blue eyes. Her face was flush from crying, and her make up was running, leaving black stains on her plump cheeks in the mascara's wake. It reminded Delilah of the watercolor painting she was working on in class before she was destined to be a Douleur. Before she understood why her stomach always ached. Before she understood why people seemed to feel comfortable about talking to her about their problems. Before, when she was happy and was capable of feeling an emotion other than happy's ugly counterpart.
"P-please," the woman with the red hair gasped through her sobs, "please make the p-pain st- stop. I can't live this way!"
Delilah placed her hand on the woman's wrist, and found her pulse. Closing her eyes, she could feel the woman's heart palpitations, and it slightly annoyed her.
"Why won't she calm down?" she thought, "it's so much easier when there's a steady heart rate."
But Delilah pressed on, knowing that there was no way to calm this woman down. After a moment, Delilah could feel the ache in her own heart, and the tears began to swell in her eyes. She could feel the woman's heart rate slowing as her pain escaped her body and released itself into Delilah. The pain flooded into Delilah's bloodstream and throughout her entire body within minutes. She jumped up as the overwhelming loss of something she didn't have filled her body. The nauseous feeling in her stomach intensified as she attempted to calm herself down, which was to no avail. She cringed and fell over; her body was limp and shaking.
Everyone around her pretended not to notice.
What seemed like an eternity later, Delilah gained enough strength to pull herself from the ground and get herself together.
"I'm so sorry for your loss, ma'am. Your daughter was an angel who will be greatly missed." she said, her voice hoarse.
"Thank you very much, Delilah. You don't know what you have done for me." the woman with the red hair said lightly.
Her eyes were no longer bloodshot, her skin was a normal, peachy tone; she almost seemed to radiate with happiness. Her wife who sat beside her, on the other hand, was still reeling from the loss of her daughter. Her green eyes bore into Delilah, begging her to touch her so she could feel better like her wife did.
"Am I next?" she asked.
"Oh, of course," Delilah replied, placing her hand on the green-eyed woman's wrist.
And the pain began again, and Delilah wondered if the pain would truly ever end.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Okay that's it :) I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I've been thinking about writing this story for a while actually, but I never took the time to write it. I plan on writing a book based on this story of Delilah the Douleur, because I have a ton of ideas on how to develop Delilah and the society itself and everything. I just have to find the time. Tell me what you think!!
Wow, Shaunaci!! I haven't read anything of yours since your personal project novel and you've really grown as a writer. I absolutely love this concept and can't wait to see you do more with it. The nurse's comment about Delilah's name reminded me of this article I read the other day. Apparently people are more likely to move to cities (Louis in St. Louis, Austin in Austin, Texas, etc.) or occupy jobs that resemble their names (apparently there are a lot of lawyers named Lauren and Lawrence). I thought it was a really interesting idea and found it funny to see it popping up in places like your story.
ReplyDeleteThanks Hailey!! I didn't plan the name thing, actually, it just kind of happened. I might end up changing a few things, or intensely editing some paragraphs, but I'm really glad you like it :) also, I'll try not to kill everyone in this book lol
DeleteI've finally been able to go through all your blog posts and I have no idea why I hadn't commented on any before. I just wanted to say I absolutely dig this, like you're a really really good writer! I think in IB we never really got to write creatively like this, so it's really neat to see how people's writing styles shift depending on the type of writing. So really neat post!
ReplyDeleteAwwh thanks, Sam! That really means a lot to me! I was never able to fit creative writing in my schedule because of IB, so I might minor in it in college in order to stay sane lol. But thanks again, I'm really glad you liked it :)
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