This is another freewrite that describes Aditi (Alana) after the encounter with the cat. It's not exactly correct in the timeline, since the narrator describes her as if he knew her before AND after the event. That would not be possible. What is important here is the change Aditi undergoes in their eyes, since this would be accurate regardless of narratorial discontinuity. (My English, let me show you it.)
Word count: 711
She smiles less now. The accident has changed her more than I think she realizes. There is a constant, tired look in her eyes, and even when she is happy emotion is rarely reflected there. It is odd, since she recovered completely several months ago. For a while, we were not sure she would regain the use of her arm. So what if there is scarring? It's just skin. Three thick, pinkish lines running from her neck to her left shoulder blade, a testament to where the big cat swung and missed, accidentally sparing her life. The infection made the skin slightly rough, the scar edges a little jagged, like they had been drawn in with a leaky fountain pen. Actually, I think it is quite attractive. Most of us do, though none of us would ever tell her.
Before the attack she would wear her long hair in a thick braid down her back, and it would swish back and forth tellingly as she walked. She preferred tops with no sleeves, and sometimes no straps. They clung to her body protectively, leaving her thin shoulders exposed to the elements. She had been in such a shirt when she had been ambushed in the woods. We always thought of it as her trademark; her breasts and legs were always well-covered, but the smooth skin of her shoulders were always visible. It was unusual; it was also sexy. I have never known anyone else who could make shoulders sexy.
When she was worried, she used to play with her hair, patting away wisps, redoing the braid, even though plaiting her knee-length hair took several minutes of careful concentration. It always seemed to clear her mind. Now, she leaves her hair alone. No longer does the braid flow free down her back and undulate with her as she moves. Instead, she plaits it to the side, and it falls down over her left shoulder, partially covering the scar. She never plays with it anymore, and the braid is not quite as tidy, the tie not as carefully placed. Strands come loose more often.
She has also taken to covering her shoulders, much to the chagrin of me and my friends. All her shirts have sleeves, so only the very top portion of the recently healed wound can be seen, peeking above her neckline, only visible when her braid shifts. Now too much of her is covered to make her seem approachable. When she worries, her right hand strays to her shoulder, rubbing where the claws ripped into her skin. She never tidies her hair to clear her mind. Instead, she just keeps rubbing, leaving the skin of her shoulder red and vibrant from the attention and the friction. Like her eyes, her shoulder, too, seems to be tired.
It's not just the clothing that makes her seem more forbidding, or the fact that she smiles less often. Her movements are stiffer, and she is quieter overall. I rarely hear her laugh, anymore, though it used to be quite easy to induce. Get her out of the town, into the forest, and everything made her full of joy.
It makes me wonder what else happened, and what that scar really reminds her of. None of us know why she went into the woods alone that night, except maybe Nanda, and he will not tell us. We're not even sure how long she had been lying there, sick and fevered and weak, until he had found her. No one ever goes out there alone, but had she been with anyone, she would not have been left there to die. And so the scar troubles her because it is a physical reminder of the problem that had driven her out there.
At least that is what we believe. None of us are sure, though we speculate a good deal over dinner or beer. I'm not sure any of us have been brave enough to ask her ourselves. Her eyes are too distant to make us feel at ease. When we look at her, now, we see her as she was, mere moments before she was pounced upon and torn open at the shoudler.
She is broken, and it keeps us all away. We're not as brave Nanda.
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