Life was simple for Jason Bourne now. He got labatts shipped to the cabin by the dozen and spent weekends out in the forest trying to connect with nature, watching beavers build dams, and helping baby birds get worms to eat. This made him feel not exactly better, but alive. In his solitude he became friends with the deer that sometimes wandered around his cabin in the early mornings. Jason named the friendliest, most graceful one Marie. The time he spent with Marie the deer was the happiest of his life - well, his life since... her.
The pain was almost too much to bear but Jason bore it manfully. His father had always taught him there was no point in bitching about life when it got bad - all you could do was take it like a man because no one would feel sorry for you. He remembered this even though he did not remember much else.
In spring, a random yellow bird took to waking him up every morning by chirping loudly outside his window at dawn. Jason resented the bird because it drove away the deer, including Marie, who also did not care for it's incessant yellow-y noise. Eventually he got accustomed to waking at the crack of dawn, and since he had nothing to do in the warm seasons - no need to collect firewood, no desire to go out in the midst of mating season which only reminded him of his solitary state - he started keeping a journal of the dreams he had. Then he wrote about his memories as they came to him. Then he found that the memories and dreams had become a kind of story and so he wrote a novel about a lonely spy who lost the love of his life. Then he sent the novel off to five or six publishing agents, but they all came back with a yellow rejection slip.
Jason got drunk that night in the woods and attempted to get a deer he thought was Marie to drink with him. He didn't remember this the next morning as he woke to the sound of shrill chirping above his head.
"Go away Nikki," he said to the bird, and rolled over to throw up.
no subject
The pain was almost too much to bear but Jason bore it manfully. His father had always taught him there was no point in bitching about life when it got bad - all you could do was take it like a man because no one would feel sorry for you. He remembered this even though he did not remember much else.
In spring, a random yellow bird took to waking him up every morning by chirping loudly outside his window at dawn. Jason resented the bird because it drove away the deer, including Marie, who also did not care for it's incessant yellow-y noise. Eventually he got accustomed to waking at the crack of dawn, and since he had nothing to do in the warm seasons - no need to collect firewood, no desire to go out in the midst of mating season which only reminded him of his solitary state - he started keeping a journal of the dreams he had. Then he wrote about his memories as they came to him. Then he found that the memories and dreams had become a kind of story and so he wrote a novel about a lonely spy who lost the love of his life. Then he sent the novel off to five or six publishing agents, but they all came back with a yellow rejection slip.
Jason got drunk that night in the woods and attempted to get a deer he thought was Marie to drink with him. He didn't remember this the next morning as he woke to the sound of shrill chirping above his head.
"Go away Nikki," he said to the bird, and rolled over to throw up.
***