<USS Banshee> A look at Heather

  • From: "Amy Jerint" <heathermclouson@xxxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: ussbanshee@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Fri, 06 Dec 2002 09:55:31 -0500

     Heather stood in front of her bathroom mirror. People often called her vain for caring about her appearance so much. But they never did seem to stop and ask why she cared. Why she spent so much time in front of the mirror. The answer she told herself was that she was studying. She studied her reflection, she had trained herself in front of the mirror. After countless hours of watching Heather had mastered each muscle of her face. A technique not easily come by. It allowed her to form an _expression_ at will with no part of her facial _expression_ revealing the true emotions.
     That was what she told herself she was doing. But she already had control over her face, why did she still do it? That answer is not so easy. To understand why she stared now, a person would have to understand Heather. They would have to unravel all the superimposed masks she hid herself behind.
     Heather turned her head and pulled her hair back from her right ear, it was still there. The mark of her past still remained. She had tried everything to remove it, to take away this marker, but nothing, not even surgury could remove it. To look at this mark, which she kept invisible in her hair would reveal why Heather had such emotional problems.
     Leaving the bathroom she walked to the main room. This was trashed. Clothes were strewn about, padds and unwashed dishes lay about. But this too was a facade. She had worked hard to make the room appear to be in a state of disarray. Most of the clothes were not even hers. She had bought them specificaly for this purpose. And the padds were blank, the dishes never been used. All these things were part of the tightly enclosed capsule her true personality resided in.
     She had been nervous coming aboard of the empathic doctor, Lt Crusher. She had been trained to sheild her real emotions and to display false ones to make it seem normal. Heather's walls had been so finely constructed that the empath who trained her could not even tell the fake from the real.
     But she was tired of being cramped. She had lived like this for most of her life. All of her life she could remember. It grew tiresome to live in her bubble. If she had chosen to live like this it would've been different. But without options Heather faltered.
     She had hoped her antics would get her removed from the ship. If she were to be discharged from Starfleet she could live a private life somewhere, a life she could choose. But all she had to do was wait for that moment of release where she would finally be free.

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