Raison d'Etre



With an appearance by…


Scene Title Raison d'Etre
Synopsis April reminds herself of why she's doing… everything.
Date April 19, 2009

Morningside Heights

I shouldn't be here.

Morningside Heights was not directly affected by the bomb; not from the perspective of real estate, anyway. Row upon row of multistory buildings, a stone's throw from the grounds of Columbia University, have the open curtains and interior illumination bespeaking residency. Even at this hour, halfway through the morning; where shadows of yet taller buildings are to be found in every direction, natural light doesn't always suffice.

There are cars on the street, and bicyclists, and a minor throng of pedestrians. It's easy for one more to enter the fold, to merge into the migration of people — even when most of them are the age of your average college student, and she most definitely isn't. Not anymore. She wears sunglasses to break up the contours of her face in a way that age can't quite pull off; the denim jacket, faded from use and beginning to show wear around the edges, is something her younger self would have never thought to wear. It should be enough.

What am I doing?

April Silver walks down the street in an unhurried fashion, the meandering of someone with nowhere particular to be — just a beautiful spring day to enjoy. Behind the sunglasses, she watches the other side of the street. Slows yet more as her watching is rewarded.

Two people step out from the door of an apartment building, familiar forms framed by an elegant brickwork arch. He walks down the stairs first; says something to make the woman laugh, the sound bright with happiness, warm with affection. She hops down the steps to join him, long dark hair bouncing about her shoulders; hooks her arm in his and pulls him around to face the direction they're departing in, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

I'm changing the future.

April Silver moves in the opposite direction, on the opposite side of the road, resolutely refusing to twist around and stare after them once they've passed beyond even peripheral sight. Just one more person on the road, a familiar stranger, anonymous amidst the sea of humanity that is New York City. For the moment, her doubts, her concerns, the nagging of her conscience — all gone. She slowly rotates the loose gold band on her left ring finger, the men's wedding ring appropriated as a memorial to her dead.

The dead who aren't deceased anymore.

I'm saving his life. And hers. All of theirs.

The woman's lips press into a thin line. Her expression, however, is made inscrutable by the presence of mirrored lenses, masking the upper portion of her face. No one else on the street cares, anyway; April is left alone with the sudden certainty of her own thoughts.

Even at the price of my own.

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