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Laura sits on the park bench and hates all the people who aren't dead. She finds it callous of them to eat ice cream in front of her, to buy balloons from the vendor at the corner. To breathe. She is ashamed of this element of self-pity, but one can only suffer so much. Her family's graves are still raw wounds in the dirt. It is strange to be
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Comments 33
You draw such a vivid portrait of Laura. Decisive and pragmatic, never sentimental, but not a machine.
This was just lovely -- I'm going now to look up your other pieces...
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How the heck did I miss this???
Off to the pimp mobile!!!
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I haven't read any BSG fic before--I don't have any friends who read it who could offer recs, and I'm kind of afraid to "jump in". But I really liked this, excellent characterization and just the right kind of bittersweetness for Roslin.
I thought this:
Laura resents them - the baby's pink-cheeked health, the girl's bubble world full of sweet treats and sunshine.
(...)
"Do you mind taking him for a minute?"
Laura reaches for him. "Of course not," she says.
Was particularly well observed. She carries so much in her head and her heart that never make it to the surface.
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Data89, web data extraction.
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