Jayne d'Arcy

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Migraine, Yourgrain

By Jayne d'Arcy

Three hours had passed. Janine had been steadily typing, meticulously checking between sources, and fixing the disceprancies. Three hours equalled just under 200 database records... and there were 2,137 to go.

Janine paused a moment to press the heels of her hands against the roundness of her eyes beneath her lids. Floating just out of reach like one of those blurry, flitting UFOs in photographs, was the wispy tail of a ghost in the periphery of her close-lidded vision. It didn't register on her senses, as the database was still uppermost in her mind. Had it registered, Janine would have taken the medication. Instead, she opened her eyes, started some new music, blinked a few times to force the text of the two database files back into focus, yawned, and then adjusted her glasses. As she resumed typing and comparing data, Janine made a mental note to ask Damon about modifying the interface of the spreadsheet programme so that it wouldn't feel like she was being constantly assaulted by the glaring white background.

In just under fifteen minutes, there was a hum mixed with the clear glass sound of a chime in Janine's left ear. She automatically pressed the tips of her fingers of her left hand against her ear in an attempt to stop the ringing; it was a futile gesture, but one that had begun in childhood. Quickly Janine saved her progress, just as the monitor moved backwards with a sort of rubbery, springy motion.

Pushing away from the desk, Janine whispered a silent prayer to any god that was listening, got up, and went over to the cabinet that held her medicine. She despised the new package the tablets came in, and as her fingernails fought with tearing open the blister holder without crushing the precious and expensive pill within, the first of the pain began to bloom.

The arrival of the pain was never the same. It could hit her like a run away truck striking an unsuspecting pedestrian, it could sneak up on her like a thief. This time, the pain opened like a blood-red rose spreading its velvety petals across her mind. Hopefully the pill would take the edge off the pain, if not destroy it completely; it always depended upon how soon she managed to send in the tiny, triangular warrior, Don Quixote Imitrex.

Janine seated herself upon the couch. It was hard to see now. The light in the living room-office had turned up several notches in brightness. Sighing, she got up to turn off the lights. Now, the only light that came into the room was from a single streetlamp outside her window. The heavy curtains blocked most of that light, but there were still soft rays that wafted through the division of the two curtain panels.

Closing her eyes relieved her from the last of the light, but beneath her eyelids, her eyes still "saw". There were the patterns that swam across her vision that came first, black and white checkerboards, stairs that rose up or down toward nothing, unopened doors, broken windows, precise lines that were so straight, it was a pleasure to behold. All the while, the rose was growing larger, the petals of pain stroked her vulnerable mind and encompassed it. A hand snaked to the back of her neck to massage it. Janine was aware, just barely, that it was hers, trying to ease more pain.

Opening her eyes during the "march of the patterns" was no easy feat for Janine. Whatever she would be seeing beneath her closed lids, would superimpose itself over the truth of her sight and the chaotic blending would be enough to cause her body to sway, as though she were on the dangerous edge of a 50 story building. But, something was demanding her attention.

Even though her glasses were still on her face, the lenses might have been no more than useless pieces of clear glass. She took them off and concentrated on the blurriness of objects in the room to give her some grounding. Her dog, Charly, a large samoyed, was concerned and had placed his heavy chin upon her leg. Janine was extra sensitive to anyone or anything touching her now, and as much as she loved Charly for his worry. She couldn't stand to have that chin pressing down upon her flesh; it felt like the bone beneath was cutting into it.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and forced herself through the images that felt more like they existed in the vision of her third eye than her real eyes, making her mind try, through the pain, to wipe away at the clutter. Her emotions were sitting on a razor, and she didn't want to yell at Charly, or god forbid, hit him. He was just loving her.

Gently she removed his chin from her leg, kissed his dry snout, and patted his head. "I'm all right, Charly," she whispered. Her voice sounded so pretty that she sang a little nonsense verse. "You go lie down. Mom's going to go lie down, too."

The pain was steady and wavered with every step Janine took to get to the bedroom. She was at the point where she wanted to cry, but crying brought on the stuffiness, which always seemed to make things worse. Tiny castles beneath starlight and glowing with multiple colors of pain were closing in on Janine this time.

...you have to start dinner.... it's five-thirty... what about the database... you forgot to save, didn't you... Charly needs to eat... will you eat?

Those questions and reality of the time in general, were imprisoned by tendrils of the blooming rose. At some point, Janine had curled up on her side on the bed. She was deep within the suffocating depths of the rose which had now become silver. She whispered to her god, old gods, even a goddess or two for good measure, and was answered by the gentle pressure of her cat settling himself against the back of her neck. This was the only time he did this. His purr rumbled through her mind; a soothing wave that spread across the silver rose, causing it to melt. Janine's rational mind, what there was left for her to grasp, told her that the medication was taking effect. Whatever, she thought to herself. She closed her eyes, not realizing that in reality, they had already been closed. The pain still thrummed determinedly deep inside her skull, but it didn't matter. As Merlyn walked past, counting time and marking it in a huge book, Janine sought the refuge of sleep.

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