#mftw ts

[moved-0-blog]

Memories For The Weak

Part one of ???

Joan and Thomas centric

Warnings: Prosthetics, Law Enforcement, Mentions of murder and death.

  July 1st, 2019

A cold baren room that held no mercy, that's where they sat. A reckless deception in appearance, maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe in other circumstances, the office gave off a homey radiant. Perhaps in another world, their best friend wasn't committed for murder. In another universe, they wouldn't be here recounting the events of Thomas Sanders' slow descent into madness. That wasn't the case, though. Here they were, two close friends dead and another committed to a penitentiary for the criminally insane. All participants no doubt traumatized and praying for everything to go back to before, hesitantly dancing around the main topic at hand whenever it came to discussion.

His photo hurt most; a small mugshot standing intimidatingly in front of Joan, an eye to eye glare at the past. Facing the husk of a body that formerly held to a compassionate and dedicated young man. Their face twisted in revulsion, the multiple throbbing memories of the monster that once lurked in their own home. Perhaps not a beast, they refused to see the duality of what once was. A man and a creature. Manic eyes that lacked sanity, stranded and terrified yet drowned out by something nonhuman; unkept matted chestnut hair tied with a pale complexion. How could you be so undeniably terrified of something yet instinctively drawn to their presence at the same time?

Their knuckles dusted white, preoccupied with clenching onto the edge of a worn-down grey sofa. Everything hurt so significantly that suffocating in a vat of oil seemed like cloud nine in comparison to this. Clawing emotions gashing at their throat, choking them into submission. "I'm sorry." Stumbling over threatening sobs, they gathered up what they could to throttle out an apology.

A tissue was handed to the other by the sweet lawyer that sat on the other side of the polished oak desk. She toyed with her long dark hair tied into a messy side braid, caramel sun-splotched skin glowing in the light of the nearby window. "Take a breather Joan, don't push yourself." With a pitying grimace, she leaned back in the leather office chair. Her leg perched over the other, intertwined hands resting idly on the trinket covered surface.

They did, screwing their eyes shut and taking a reluctant breath. Shaking their head to shake off the pins and needles crawling up their esophagus. "Yeah, I'm trying."

They shifted their feet against the carpeted flooring, a small squeak of plastic filled the room. Both sets of eyes darted to the noise; a moment of unrecognition settling in before the inevitable. A defectively made prosthetic in the place of where their leg should be. The slow chilling of reality set in, quick flashing slideshows of horrendous actions committed by their best friend. "I want my leg back." They sighed, hands reaching up to tiredly cover their face, "I want it all to go back."

She sighed, "Can you go over the events leading up to this again? From your point of view, every detail even small counts to getting you and your friends the justice you deserve." That last part seemingly was meant to be encouraging, but it just brought back the underlying case at hand. Joan's partner and a close friend were now both dead at the hands of someone they trusted. A former accuantice and best friend. How could things go so downhill so fast?

Justice. A joke in itself that just throwing a broken man behind bars or a locked door would magically fix it all of their problems. Throwing away a key won't solve the problem of pain for anyone. Thomas was a good man. He is still a good man. "Don't talk about him like he's a monster. He didn't mean it," they almost cried at that, if they already weren't in tears before.

"I'm not saying he's bad. I just need your side of the story; Joan, when did Sanders start showing change?"

They cleared their throat, a final glance down at his photo. "When he missed my play reading. It started from there."