A lovely tribute, Wendy. I'm sure Yael would have enjoyed your honest look at Dan's POV:
The truth is, nothing is fine. I walk around the streets of this idiotic city and can think of nothing. Not even about her. Everything seems useless, everybody is indifferent. Where can I go? I can’t get myself to visit her apartment but I don’t want to leave just yet. Who knows, maybe she’ll show up. I keep telling myself it’s impossible, but until a week ago I also considered cloning people as impossible. I went to the hospital, and they told me only family is allowed. They wouldn’t even let me see her body. And why? It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense these days. Not the Cafes we won’t visit, not the movies we won’t watch.
Everybody talked about how much she was like you. I’ve got news for you she was *nothing* like you. She was naive, and caring, and funny, and sensitive and I could go on like this forever, but it doesn’t help now! It doesn’t matter anymore. She looked like you. That was all your resemblance. Apparently, it was enough to get her killed.
Why do people we love have to die, Lois? Why can’t we all live forever and be happy? Is it too much to ask for? Whom should I ask?
I think I’ll get a plane out of here tomorrow. And then again, maybe I’ll just get out of my mind.
That was Yael's most poignant contribution to the ficlist's RPG a few years ago.
I can't stop thinking about her these last few days, and it seems to me that somehow, knowing a terrorist victim long-distance, so to speak, is even worse than the murder of someone I knew well.
Thanks for writing this, Wendy.
Hazel
