Post by divine on Jan 7, 2008 20:33:46 GMT -5
ooc// Please don't do a long listed bio. Name: Age: Description: ect. If you do one, keep it short. Those things annoy me. Other than that, put some effort into your posts. You can be a doctor, patient, nurse, family, anything. I haven't roleplay in a while and I'm kinda rusty, but here goes nothing. ^^ If more people join, I might add a second character. Let's see how it goes.
ic//
The name on her chart was a name she wouldn't answer to. No one knew why. No one had had a chance to find out. She'd only been admitted the day before yesterday, and she'd hardly been in any condition to talk. The small town hospital she been at had had one psychiatrist to their name, and he was right out of medical school. The minute she'd been out of critical condition, or perhaps before that, her parents had been making arrangements to have her put in a psychiatric facility in the city. Sedated heavily, she'd been taken from one hospital to the next.
Her memory was still foggy, everything was a blur. But she remembered her mom's tears. Or was that imagined? She never thought her mom could cry. But she could've sworn she'd seen her mother crying. She couldn't remember if her dad had even been there. She knew, or did she, that her mom hadn't stayed long. She also knew that when her mom had left, she had kissed her cheek, leaving a dark red lipstick stain along her pale white cheek. She knew that because she saw it in a mirror, somewhere in the hall. And she'd fought, kicking and screaming, when they'd tried to wash it away. So they'd sedated her again, leaving her memory blurred and vaporish. And when she'd woken up, it'd been gone.
So now she sat in a corner of her room staring down at the cuts and bruises on her arms, on her legs, everyone. Nurses had been coming in and out all day, calling her name. "Jenny? Jenny, are you alright?" But she would not answer to that name. She didn't know what name she would answer to, but she supposed it would be told to her in time. She vaguely recalled being forced to take medication, but she didn't know what it was for. But she didn't want to take it again. From what she could tell, the day was early still, and this place was already scaring her. She could hear shreaks occasionally in the hallway. There was someone nearby who banged the walls constantly. She could hear it all in her head, and there didn't seem to be any escape. So she'd huddled in the corner, hidden by hair the color of a newly sparked flame, as a nurse changed her bed clothes. And she'd stayed there, gently tapping her arm repetitively, in time to the ticking clock in her head. And after a while, the tapping had become harder, and soon turned to banging. But no nurse passed by and saw, most were too busy. So she kept going until she saw the beginnings of another bruise, until her arm was tired, and she dosed gently into a slumber.
ic//
The name on her chart was a name she wouldn't answer to. No one knew why. No one had had a chance to find out. She'd only been admitted the day before yesterday, and she'd hardly been in any condition to talk. The small town hospital she been at had had one psychiatrist to their name, and he was right out of medical school. The minute she'd been out of critical condition, or perhaps before that, her parents had been making arrangements to have her put in a psychiatric facility in the city. Sedated heavily, she'd been taken from one hospital to the next.
Her memory was still foggy, everything was a blur. But she remembered her mom's tears. Or was that imagined? She never thought her mom could cry. But she could've sworn she'd seen her mother crying. She couldn't remember if her dad had even been there. She knew, or did she, that her mom hadn't stayed long. She also knew that when her mom had left, she had kissed her cheek, leaving a dark red lipstick stain along her pale white cheek. She knew that because she saw it in a mirror, somewhere in the hall. And she'd fought, kicking and screaming, when they'd tried to wash it away. So they'd sedated her again, leaving her memory blurred and vaporish. And when she'd woken up, it'd been gone.
So now she sat in a corner of her room staring down at the cuts and bruises on her arms, on her legs, everyone. Nurses had been coming in and out all day, calling her name. "Jenny? Jenny, are you alright?" But she would not answer to that name. She didn't know what name she would answer to, but she supposed it would be told to her in time. She vaguely recalled being forced to take medication, but she didn't know what it was for. But she didn't want to take it again. From what she could tell, the day was early still, and this place was already scaring her. She could hear shreaks occasionally in the hallway. There was someone nearby who banged the walls constantly. She could hear it all in her head, and there didn't seem to be any escape. So she'd huddled in the corner, hidden by hair the color of a newly sparked flame, as a nurse changed her bed clothes. And she'd stayed there, gently tapping her arm repetitively, in time to the ticking clock in her head. And after a while, the tapping had become harder, and soon turned to banging. But no nurse passed by and saw, most were too busy. So she kept going until she saw the beginnings of another bruise, until her arm was tired, and she dosed gently into a slumber.