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Sunday, April 06, 2003 An Excerpt Another vignette--as it stands at the moment, anyway--from the story I've been working on: Alyssa stared past the beginnings of the novel in her hand, past the black type and red pen-lines, past the dog-eared pages and into the realm of recent memory. Why do I seem bent on self-destruction? Alyssa could enter the thoughts of women hundreds of years removed from her darkened room but she couldn’t understand herself. She’d hidden her depression for months, but when Kadin finally figured out what was going on he tried to convince her to see a psychiatrist. Why are you so against this? Why am I so against this? The pages faded and she scrutinized the piece of embroidered satin that functioned as her curtain. At least you’ll know if there’s a biological or chemical reason. She denied the possibility. Yet deep inside she wondered, and had been wondering for the last year. She would never tell him that. Kadin was so persistent—he really wanted her to consider it. She grimaced. We probably stood at the door for a half hour arguing the point. You’re blowing this off. Of course she was; how did he expect her to react? It wasn’t even shame but rather pride or a strange form of self-reliance that prevented her from letting him in. To a fault? Or maybe something else… she couldn’t put her finger on what bothered her exactly, but she gave the illusion of nonchalance. In fact, she took Kadin far more seriously than she would admit; she pretended that he was bordering on annoying, but inside Alyssa was comforted that he cared. It means so much. Thank you. ^ Top | 11:57 PM | | | 
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