Scene Title Instinct
Synopsis Daphne's is to take flight when presented with unsolvable problems.
Date March 11, 2010

Daphne's Apartment

The traditional "flu" part of the virus running rampant in her system has taken hold. She's been coughing more and more, and while trying to stay in bed, the urge to test her power every few minutes or so keeps her awake, even when the coughing subsides long enough for her to catnap.

When she does sleep, it's fitful, with dreams that make her wish she hadn't slept. Replays of the nightmares she'd walked through lately. Replays of her mother's death. Visions of a life without her power — a life she thought she'd left behind.

She's tentative on her feet this evening — walking like a blind woman almost, with her hands out just in case she loses her power, so that she can catch anything to keep from crashing to the ground. Her knees and her hands are already bruised from doing so half a dozen times. She grabs the things she thinks she needs: a change of clothes, money, water, protein bars. Her mother's medal. These are all stuffed into her red and white messenger bag. She's travelling light.

The cell phone too — a quick glance of the display shows the several messages she's not responded to. A guilty look crosses her face, but she shoves it in the bag. It's easier this way. If she doesn't survive this flu — it's better he doesn't know. He's lost too much all ready. Better for him to think it was just a fling that didn't work out. If she survives the flu and her power doesn't — a possibility a doctor mentioned in an article she read … Well. Who wants to be with a cripple?

It is said that many animals, when they are dying, flee their packs, their herds, their pods to go die somewhere alone. The taint of disease brings danger in the form of those who would prey on the weak.

She's not being selfless. Daphne knows it's a selfish act. She is going to get worse, and her pride cannot stand the thought of anyone she knows now seeing her like she was before. Instead she will return to Kansas, back home to her father who will love her anyway and who cannot get her virus. Her legs seem to be all right for the time being. She will stop and rest, move in short spurts rather than go for the long haul. Slow and steady wins the race, right?

Not in her experience.

With one final glance around her apartment, unsure if she will see it ever again, she grabs her coat and bag and exits, locking it behind her. She steps out into the snowy night, becoming a blur of red and gray and white, a comet streaking through the streets.

Goodbye, New York.

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