Participants:
| Scene Title | Onomatopoeia |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Rebecca finds something blue and tempting in her purse when she arrives home. |
| Date | August 14, 2009 |
The Apartment of Rebecca Nakano
The door to Rebecca Nakano's apartment slams open, as she had to kick it to get in. Both arms have grocery bags that she sets on the counter when she walks in. She places her purse next to the bags on the edge of that counter. As she walks towards the door to shut it, something shifts and her purse falls to the ground, the contents spilling out.
She sighs, tired and hurting. Her head has not stopped pounding since the moment she woke up today. It's one of the worst days ever for her. She reaches for her meds, only to find she'd taken the last two several hours ago. She slams the door shut, immediately wishing she hadn't as it jolts her brain and she lets out a small whimper that no one else will ever hear.
She looks over at the contents on the floor, deciding to put away her groceries before she does anything else. She walks by the answering machine and she sees the red digital '0'. Figures. Once all the groceries are put in their proper place, she moves over to pick up the spilled contents in her purse.
As she picks up some lip gloss and a small package of Kleenex, she spots something blue inside the recesses of her purse and she reaches in and pulls out a syringe.
God.
She doesn't have to ask where it came from. Her first instinct is to shove it back into her purse. It's then she spies two more inside. She brings all three out and stands walking over to sit on her couch, laying out all three side by side on her coffee table.
She doesn't do drugs. Not like this. Admittedly, she's taken more than she should of the drugs that are prescribed for her, but it's not like she doesn't have the pain. It never goes away.
The battle comes down between the force of her own will to do the right thing and the throbbing of the migraine that seems to be eating away at her brain. Breaking her concentration from work. Keeping her awake at night.
She stands and paces, her eyes playing over the glowing blue glowsticks in front of her.
What if it really works? What if it takes away the pain?
The pain.
For the last several weeks that's all she's known. That persistent throbbing, driving her towards madness it seems.
The decision is made as surely as someone had placed it in her hand, as she reaches for the first syringe.
".. I-A-N. Parlamentarian." There is a pause followed by, "Correct." Polite applause. "Rebecca Nakano." There is another small splattering of applause as a 10 year old Rebecca Nakano stands in front of the auditorium audience.
"The word is 'hemorrhage'." There's a pause as Rebecca looks over at the judge. She then turns to the microphone and declares, "H-E-M-O-R-R-H-A-G-E. Hemorrhage." After a moments pause, "Correct." More applause. She can see her parents near the front row and they both look very proud of her. She thinks to herself, "This is the best day of my entire life."
It's down to her and William Snyder. Snyder was one of those kids who always got everything right. But not only did he get it right, he let you know he got it right. Rebecca rivaled him in everything academic. William moves up to take his spot in front of the microphone.
"William, your word is 'onomatopoeia'."
The memory of Willie with his eyes widening as he hears the word will always remain in Rebecca's mind for years to come. He clears his throat and repeats the word into the microphone before he starts to spell. "O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-I-A. Onomatopoeia."
Then the silence.
"Incorrect."
Then the gasp of the crowd gathered to watch ripples through the auditorium.
"Rebecca. The word is "onomatopoeia."
She spotted it the moment the letter I popped from between William Snyder's lips. She tries so hard not to smile because it would be bad if she gloated and failed. "O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-E-I-A. Onomatopoeia."
God, the silence. It's killing her.
"Correct.
The thrill of that moment, as the cheers seem to roll over her like a tidal wave as the audience comes to life. It's that moment that she chooses to relive over and over again.
Rebecca has no clue really what she's done to herself. She lies there on her couch, as the empty syringe falls to the floor with a clatter. The one thing she does note is that she no longer has the pain.
