I'm sitting in a hospital waiting room, worried about my own mother, so I decided to apply the situation to Claymore. Surrounded by whiteness, feeling reminiscent, melancholy, and impatient...sounded like Pieta to me. So hope you all enjoy.
I forgot to guard my thoughts.
I forgot to forget her.
The hours in Pieta pass as slowly as the mortals age. My idle brain does not obey me. With so much pain attached to that one special name, I cannot bare to even breathe it. But as I count the granules of this hourglass floating lazily down, I can't always dictate my mind into submission - occasionally I will fall into the pit of poignant, pointless nostalgia.
On these days, I'm particularly laconic. My comrades don't seem to notice a significant change in me. My body tenses on these days…I won't allow myself to weep before them. What warrior will admit any weaknesses openly? Let them be just as openly ashamed.
If I concentrate on the other women's lives, I can tamper my grief down a little.
Helen prattles on without end.
Deneve just rolls her eyes and counters with wit and sarcasm. She's the expert, you know.
Miria watches me and everyone else closely. She's more practiced at observation than I am.
The other two quietly talk…probably about how odd Helen is compared to the typical mindless warrior.
Still, my mind lingers on her. She will always be with me. Her name comes to my tongue, but I suppress it. How odd would it be for me to randomly say her name? These women know nothing of me or my past. My silence guarantees the preservation of my secrets. As long as she is mine alone, I can hold onto her forever.
Helen diverts her attention from Deneve long enough to notice me. She narrows in on me, but I don't think she sees my distress. As if reading my thoughts, she asks loudly, "Why don't we know more about you, Clare?" She struts closer and squats beside Miria. "You're a frickin' mystery. I mean really…we know nothing about you other than you're pretty strong and you used to have that pet boy. Oh, and you're always distant. Spill, dear Clare. I'm intrigued. In a hole like this, we need to know more about each other. A means of entertainment."
I only stare at her. I won't take that bait. She doesn't need to know anything. I probably would've held my ground too…if Miria and the others hadn't started staring at me in return. Apparently they did need entertainment. I stand though; I refuse to offer such gossip.
I don't look back as I leave Helen who decides to shout at me for being unfair. I don't care though. I can't stand the thought of group sharing. How embarrassing!
I know I will most likely cradle the unspoken name in my soul until I die…until I avenge her. No amount of prodding from Helen or any other annoyance can take her name, her presence in my life, from me, but it's so difficult to not just blurt out every thought when such white silence encompasses everything. The boredom and the waiting and the stillness will drive me insane soon. Isn't it ironic how a person in your life for so little time can impact you for the rest of your life? I live in her shadow. I live to honor her, to avenge her, to always love her as the only mother I can remember.
I can still hear Helen yelling...outraged at my silence, but it will never matter as long as I hold onto her.