“No, I’m terribly sorry, but you don’t understand… this isn’t where I’m supposed to be.”
The nurses don’t seem to care. They’re relentless, as nurses tend to be, and Edward finds himself gently but firmly hustled out into the street. He cringes backwards against the door when he feels the sun on his face—not afraid of the sun and the light itself, but of the entire great world yawning open before him, unseen and unknown. The nurses could have positioned him in front of a gaping chasm, and he wouldn’t know any different.
Edward clings to the puppy the nurses insisted he take with him, despite his protests that he couldn’t possibly care for a puppy, he can barely care for himself, and it squirms in his arms, whining and lifting its head to swipe its warm tongue along his chin. What is he supposed to do now? He’s blind after over a lifetime of sight, lost and alone and completely out of his element, and now responsible for a puppy.
What if it runs away? Maybe it would be better if it ran away. It could find someone better able to care for it if it did.
[Wandering on the road somewhere]
The puppy did not run away. In fact, it’s kept very close to Edward, close enough that he can feel its warm, furry body pressed against his calf.
There was also no gaping chasm in front of him, just a simple street and a small village. Edward has asked to be taken back to the Abbey, but no one had known what that was. Instead, he’s been fed, given tea, and gently guided onto something called a Route. The friendly woman who brought him to the edge of the city even gave him a cane, and Edward is slowly and painfully picking his way along the road.
“Why won’t you go away?” The puppy is exhausting in its insistence on staying close to him. If it would just run away, if it would go find someone else to care for it, Edward would be able to sit down. He’d be able to find a place to be alone, and to finally silence the howling demons in his head.
Edward Courtenay | Downton Abbey
“No, I’m terribly sorry, but you don’t understand… this isn’t where I’m supposed to be.”
The nurses don’t seem to care. They’re relentless, as nurses tend to be, and Edward finds himself gently but firmly hustled out into the street. He cringes backwards against the door when he feels the sun on his face—not afraid of the sun and the light itself, but of the entire great world yawning open before him, unseen and unknown. The nurses could have positioned him in front of a gaping chasm, and he wouldn’t know any different.
Edward clings to the puppy the nurses insisted he take with him, despite his protests that he couldn’t possibly care for a puppy, he can barely care for himself, and it squirms in his arms, whining and lifting its head to swipe its warm tongue along his chin. What is he supposed to do now? He’s blind after over a lifetime of sight, lost and alone and completely out of his element, and now responsible for a puppy.
What if it runs away? Maybe it would be better if it ran away. It could find someone better able to care for it if it did.
[Wandering on the road somewhere]
The puppy did not run away. In fact, it’s kept very close to Edward, close enough that he can feel its warm, furry body pressed against his calf.
There was also no gaping chasm in front of him, just a simple street and a small village. Edward has asked to be taken back to the Abbey, but no one had known what that was. Instead, he’s been fed, given tea, and gently guided onto something called a Route. The friendly woman who brought him to the edge of the city even gave him a cane, and Edward is slowly and painfully picking his way along the road.
“Why won’t you go away?” The puppy is exhausting in its insistence on staying close to him. If it would just run away, if it would go find someone else to care for it, Edward would be able to sit down. He’d be able to find a place to be alone, and to finally silence the howling demons in his head.