Post by doctorpeggy on May 7, 2020 16:48:51 GMT
Prompt: "I'm ready to try again, if you are?"
In lieu of trying to write something from scratch, I thought I'd post what I had for the first prompt from, which I had never posted because I never managed to complete it. The section I'm posting now doesn't have the dialogue from the prompt in it yet, but I do have a plan for it (if I ever get that far). This is actually just the first half of what I have written, but I thought, why not, right? I'm struggling to keep the atmosphere and emotion in it the way I want it to be without compromising on the pace and the readability of it, so I'd be happy to receive feedback on how I've been managing it in this first bit. I think I might have messed up either the characters, the flow, or both.
I think I might also want to warn you that I tried writing a bit differently than I usually do. Things may sound a bit clunky or odd in places.
As usual, the title of the story needs work, but I think I'm getting a bit better at creating titles. I mean, maybe.
And though it seems I've just told you that this piece of work is terrible, I'm not actually all that unhappy with it, as compared to my feelings about most other work I've posted, so I hope you like it!
I should also mention in advance that I have referenced (but not depicted) multiple character deaths, in case anyone would prefer not to read that.
Note that in this universe, Agasa Hiroshi, the Kudous (except Shinichi), and the Mouris have all been killed. I don't know why such a dark story idea came to me, but it did.
Words (in this section): 424
Learning to Hope
The final operation is over, and the summer after is too long.
Shiho waits for it to end, waits for the refuge that going back to school will give them from the amount of time that they have to spend in their own minds.
They live together now, in the small guest room in the Yoshida household, benefiting from the kindness of a family who can’t even begin to comprehend their situation.
Ayumi, herself lost after the death of so many people she knew, moves between attempting to talk to them, and trying find a place for her own grief.
Shiho spends time with her, trying her best to teach her how to move past what the little girl can’t understand.
She worries about the Detective Boys often, because she’s grown to care about them, and to a lesser extent about Suzuki Sonoko, Toyama Kazuha and Hattori Heiji, because she’s understood that they affect the person she worries about most.
He stays mostly by himself, eyebrows drawn close, arms held close to his body, chin pulled in, as if he is afraid to lose even those if he isn’t careful. He is not comforted by the fact that they don’t know his identity yet, although the weight on his shoulders does seem to lighten infinitesimally when he is reminded that Shiho has not been caught, either. It’s distressing to watch him wither. He piles books from the public library in their shared room, reading and rereading.
Sometimes, in the muted light of the evening reflected onto his face from the pale pages of a book, he looks almost peaceful again. Sometimes the corner of his lip will curl up delicately, and some of his old spirit will return to his eyes, but it’s only when he’s reading, away from the tragedy of his own reality, that it happens.
And Shiho spends so many nights worrying. She lies on the futon next to him and watches him toss under the blankets. She listens, pained, as Ayumi’s mother remarks sadly every time that she comes to fetch the sheets for washing, that the sheets on his futon are so crumpled it’s impossible to imagine he’s been sleeping at all.
Shiho tries to sound reassuring when she lies, saying don’t worry, saying he’s okay once he falls asleep, when all she can hope is that one of these nights she will no longer have to be woken up by the sounds, of tossing, of heavy breathing, of pained murmuring, of sobbing, from the futon next to her.