Serial Saturday Update

The first chapter of the second part of my FNAFiction is live, after nearly two hours spent relearning how the hell to post a new work. It should not be this difficult for me to navigate the extremely simple, intuitive, user-friendly fanfiction websites, but what can I say? I’m an idiot when it comes to technology. I know just what I need to know in order to write my books and watch porn and that’s IT. And quite frankly, I prefer to write in notebooks and peek through my neighbor’s windows, so there’s that.

But I digress. Everything Is All Right, Part Two: Mike Schmidt and the Long Night is good to go on fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.org. For those of you who were waiting for Part One: Girl on the Edge of Nowhere to be complete before you started reading it, now is the time. Or maybe you want to wait until all five parts are finished, in which case, you got a wait coming. Sorry about that. I’ve written more than five hundred pages in just six months already; I’m going as fast as I can, but this book is a monster and I’m having too much fun to start thinking of it as work yet.

So please enjoy this excerpt as I kick off Part Two in this incredibly dark series about child abuse, murder, betrayal and big purple robot bunnies in love. What’s not to enjoy, right?

Shameless self-promotion!

 

July 4, 1987

The sheets were white. The walls were white. The floor was white and shiny, even at night, because it was never really dark. Although the lights in the ceiling were off, there was enough of a glow coming from all the machines beside the bed for the little girl lying in it to clearly see the letters on the whiteboard hanging on the wall, although she could only read a few of the words and most of those were just names. CARRIE, the name of the nurse on d-u-t-y; that meant the one that kept coming in and out. Dr. HANSON, the name of the a-t-t-e-n-d-i-n-g doctor; that meant the one who wouldn’t let her go. STARK, Anastasia, the name of the p-a-t-i-e-n-t; that was her.

Outside the window that would not open, Ana could see stars and part of a moon and fireworks exploding over the park, because it was the Fourth of July. David and Aunt Easter had gone home a long time ago and although Ana had cried after they left, part of her hoped they had gone home and built the fire and had hotdogs outdoors and set off their own fireworks and made the same happy holiday for themselves that they were supposed to have, because otherwise, Ana had ruined it.

She had ruined it. It was all her fault. David tried to take the blame because it had been his idea, but Ana knew better. It was summertime and Ana was supposed to stay at Aunt Easter’s. Mom didn’t want her back yet. Just because Ana had forgot her swimsuit didn’t give her the right to go home and get it. She deserved everything she got.

Her head hurt. Not her arm, which was funny because her arm was what broke. Her head was swollen up pretty bad—she still couldn’t open her eye on that side—but it hadn’t broke. Ana looked at the itchy, heavy cast that started growing just above her hand—still swollen, with her purple fingers sticking out of the end, two of them in little casts of their own—all the way up her arm until it joined up with the bigger cast wrapping the upper part of her chest. The doctors had cut pieces away over the places that had stitches, so Ana could see the black thread zig-zagging over the puffy red bulge that she guessed was her skin. That hurt, too, but not as much as her head.

There were big foam blocks with her in the bed to keep her from rolling over, but they weren’t comfortable. Nothing Ana could do made her comfortable. She wiggled around for a while, but couldn’t wiggle too much because the tube connecting the bag the nurse told her was her medicine to the needle in her arm wasn’t very long. The needle had hurt when they first put it in, but now it didn’t unless she touched it. Sometimes she forgot it was there and had to touch it to remind herself it was real.

Ana looked at the needle in her arm and the wires that seemed to be growing out of her and up to the funny TV full of colored lines and numbers that were always changing and letters that didn’t spell words. The nurse had told her not to be scared of it; she wasn’t. It was just a machine. It didn’t want to scare or hurt her. It didn’t even want to do the job it was doing. It could only do what it had been built to do, unaware of itself or of her, thinking nothing as it measured the pain in her body and printed it out in ways that could be read by nurses. Its wheezes, hums and tones were neither sympathetic nor hostile. It felt nothing for her at all and would not, not even if she were to die right now.

Ana found that comforting.

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