littlewonder2

Little wonder we stumble in life.


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Death on my Mind

Your heart was slow in your chest. You were withered, old, and grey. And your younger sister was clutching your hand beside the bed.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“How do you feel?” you retorted.

“Seriously.”

“Seriously, it doesn’t matter how I feel. My death isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

She looked at you disbelievingly, pitying.

“No one’s death is really about them,” you continue. “Except for those who really have no one, no one to care. Then their death is about them, because they’ll have no one else to carry them. Just a last flash in the pan, then they’re gone. But you care,” you said. “And soon it won’t matter how I feel, cause I’ll be dead. These’ll be my last words. And then you’ll be alone, to suffer. How can that feel?”

She squeezed your hand. “You’re still alive. You still matter, to me.”

“I know.” You stare back into her face, unshed tears in your eyes, and squeeze back. “I’m afraid to go. My mind… I don’t want to lose it.”

“A mind is a terrible thing to waste,” she quoted at you with humour, and you smile.

“Indeed.”

You felt yourself slip away, and squeezed her hand tighter. “It’s been real,” you said, unironically. It comes out sincere, full of emotion. “I just wish I had been real for longer, instead of burying it so deep I lost it. You were the one exception.”

“Sisters,” she said, “duh.”

“Yeah, I know. But still.”

She looked at me, eyes soft. “I know.”

“Will you care when I go? When mum died…”

“Of course I will. You’re my sister. Anyway, you remember I cried when dad died.”

“Just checking.”

“You’re the only one I have left,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was glad to have you as a sister. Still am.”

“Thanks.” You allowed a tear to slide down your face before closing your eyes to sleep; to die.

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The Girl with the Mousy Hair

Inspired by this song: Life On Mars

Dawn stole the money from Brenda’s wallet before she leapt through the door out into the night. It was a new city, and she had heard Brenda talk to someone on the phone about the “movies,” and thought this new thing was something she ought to try.

There was plenty about the big bright world she hadn’t seen, that her father had tried to shield her from like some puritanical hypocrite fuck, but she was out here and she was proud to have left him behind, so she bounded into the world, looking for the place.

After wandering around the right vacinity, she found it, and paid her ticket for some random title. There were food stands, and she passed by without even considering them; she couldn’t pass the stuff, anyway. That was the problem with having a partially dead body. She couldn’t even claim blood as a snack, just an occasional necessity. And she didn’t get hungry much, anyway.

Sitting in the dark room, it occurred to her that the effect was lost on her, as a vampire. She could still see the room, in crisp detail, and she wondered if that would lessen the visibility of the screen somewhat. At least there was no glare.

The ads were running for a bunch of other films. She didn’t pay much attention, apart the occasional quip that caught her eye or ear, and waited for the film to begin.

Finally, it did, and the scene began to unfold before her. The black of space was faded at the edges as a ship came into view, intricate and foreign to her eyes. Not understanding what was happening, she was hooked to the screen, already the makings of war earning the film its title. Two men in a small desert hut then came to view, talking. Then they were attacked.

Brenda came and sat down beside her, hooking her fingers into the cupholder as she kept her arm a calculated distant parallel to Dawn’s on the armrest between them.

“Figures you’d choose a film with war in the name.”

“I was curious.” She glanced at Brenda, who was slightly stiff in her seat. Dawn pressed her back more into the cushions, almost as a challenge. She had never been used to comfort. “How did you find me?”

“Asked. Just had to find someone who saw the malnurished girl. You know, I could help you with that.”

“Drinking you wouldn’t help my figure. I’m afraid I’m stuck like this, like it or not.”

“I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Don’t be.” There was an edge to her voice, and Brenda looked ahead of her at the screen, saying nothing but looking uncertain. Eventually her eyes settled, and she watched the movie with Dawn.

Occasionally, Dawn couldn’t help but glance at her. Eventually, she sighed. “This movie is weird. I’ll admit there’s some weird shit in the world, like what I am. Vampires. But it’s nothing like this.”

“It’s just sci-fi.”

“Sci-what?”

“Sci-fi. Science fiction. It’s all speculative.”

“Yeah, well I don’t like it. Look at that thing. What is it?”

“An alien.”

“A what?”

“An alien. A species from another planet.”

“Another what?”

“Look, it’s a foreign species.”

“Oh,” said Dawn, looking down and up again. She found she had reached out and intertwined her fingers with Brenda’s, and they were hanging over the front of the cup holder. She almost pulled away, but she found she liked it. It made her feel close to someone again, like she had her sister. She looked up into Brenda’s eyes.

“I think I’ve found who I’m like. That Ray person. The eager warrior. You’re the cowardly stormtrooper.”

“Thanks,” retorted Brenda.

“Seriously. Afraid but loyal, till the end.”

“Movie hasn’t ended yet.”

“Yeah, but it’s pathetic. I already know that’s where we’re going. Again. There’s a war, we fight together, I kick their asses, you take their names. We win. I’ll always be happy to fight, and you’ll always complain about having to defend me. And then we be together.”

“Is that where we’re going?” said Brenda.

“It’s pathetic,” Dawn repeated, real venom in her voice this time, but not aimed at Brenda. “We fight, we break up, we come back. Because we’re friends. Because I couldn’t live without you. And now here’s this, this movie, serving it to me like I don’t know, like a neat little package served up with alien monsters like that’s supposed to mean anything, like it’s not some fucking fantasy.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “I know what I am. And so do you, and so do we. I don’t need to be manipulated, or reminded.”

“Is that what you think I do?” said Brenda. “I know you understand, but they don’t. Sometimes it hurts too damn much, to know they don’t. All these swirling thoughts in my head, these feelings… I just want them to know you like I do, to understand. I want them to love you, Dawn, like I do.”

“Is that a confession?”

Brenda blushed, sheepishly smiling, turning slightly away. “Not like that. But you know what I mean.” She forced the smile down. “Tell me I’m not wasting my time.”

“You’re not. Not on me, anyway. Maybe on them.”

Brenda shrugged. “It’s important to me. I have to try.”

“I know you do.” Dawn looked softly at her, as though about to say more, but she didn’t. “I love you too.”


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Star Trek, Doctor Who, and the evolution of connection

It is a funny thing, comparing the old canon of sci-fi with the new. I have looked at it enough with Doctor Who, and I have begun recently to do the same with Star Trek. Most of popular sci-fi started on 60s television (from what I’ve seen), and so it is with both of these shows; they are, in fact, the genesis of the genre as we know it today. I have observed that they also represent two approaches: that of the personal adventure (Doctor Who) and that of the formal adventure (Star Trek). The Doctor ran away with a time machine from his civilisation on Gallifrey, yet the crew aboard the starship Enterprise conduct their adventures with the full permission and support of their own civilisations.

However, I have also recently been thinking of another aspect to both these series, that of the series’ representation of relationships. In the Star Trek original series, of course, relationships aren’t exactly top priority, and yet in the reboot (also referred to as the ‘Alternate Original Series’), one of the very creators of the first film described it as a kind of romantic comedy between Kirk and Spock. This is a relationship that’s also very much canon in the original series (especially the original series movies), but the reboot puts relationships on more of a forefront than the TV original series. It’s certain that some kind of obvious physical or romantic contact doesn’t occur in the relationship of new Kirk and Spock, like that apparent between the new Spock and Uhura, however it is undeniable nonetheless, in the ways that creator mentions:

This first movie is just a love story between Spock and Kirk. It has all the beats of a romantic comedy where they meet, they don’t get along, they totally hate each other, and then they get into a situation where they kind of need each other, and by the end Spock walks onto the bridge and he’s like, ‘Let’s fuck!’ – Star Trek producer Damon Lindelof

Although I don’t agree wholly with this statement (the idea of Spock so much as implying ‘let’s fuck’ messes with everything I know and think about who he is under most circumstances), there is definitely subtext the like of which comes to something not far from it. Although I don’t see the two of them acting in quite so sexual a manner, there is a definite connection that might lead to actions such as touching or melding, though I doubt it would happen on screen. Lindelof is certainly entitled to his opinions, though I do suspect that the intended on screen relationship is meant to be that of Spock and Uhura. I don’t see as strong a connection between those two characters as between Kirk and Spock however, but it certainly seems to be the modern trend to imply but not show deep male bonding, with the implication of romance but often not going beyond that. At the same time, showing either one of the men engaging with many meaningless physical relations (as in the case of Kirk), or one of the men engaging in a physical sometimes romantic connection with a woman but to a lesser degree than the man he should be with (as in the case of Spock).

Compare this equation to the one presented in the original series, in which romantic relationships were very much gendered — most of them occurred to the woman of either the Enterprise, or an alien planet, and in the men it wasn’t something that occurred very often as their main priority was always to their work and not their love lives, apart from when that aspect was brought up by the appearance of women. Spock here is also the epitome of this ideal, as the logical Vulcan with no interest in that aspect, but is far more focused on his work than even the ordinary men. The fact is also shown that women represent a fantasy for men, and are used as nothing more than whatever male desire is shown in that episode, with the probable exception to that rule being Uhura and perhaps a few others. However, this was usually also the medium through which female character was revealed, whatever its motivations were, showing equally as many ambitious women as compassionate ones.

However, apart from the representation of women in original series Star Trek, is that of Kirk and Spock’s relationship. That their relationship was beyond friendship and went into romance is still a widely accepted piece of canon, and it was certainly the intention of Gene Roddenbury, which he himself admitted in 1979, around the time the Star Trek movies began. It is shown in the TV series, as well as in novelisations and comics, that this connection existed to such an extent that it was essentially the same as any other relationship represented in popular culture.

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Be that as it may, the original series was always cleverly constructed as a sci-fi series first, that just happened to contain snippets of this relationship all throughout its canon. It weaved relationships like it weaved character, as an essential but not primary part of the narrative. This is something Doctor Who did as well. It presented action as the primary, as the character that compelled that action was revealed through it. In the Star Trek reboot, as mentioned before, they described the film as a ‘romantic comedy’ in space, but there was of course action in it as well. I think the difference between now and then is that the priority has switched; the ideal now seems to be that sci-fi without something for the audience to connect to is meaningless, and this is translated into the idea that sci-fi, as well as any other genre, is meaningless without relationships. This can only mean that through the decades, relationships have gained more power in the collective consciousness; that while women are still seen as sexual and romantic objects to an extent, the meaning of relationships has become primary in our culture for all of us.

Lindelof is a prime example of this, certainly by how he ended his quote about the Star Trek reboot, showing that sexuality has become arguably more important than romantic relationships in our society. After all, it is nearly impossible to come across a creator of storytelling media these days who doesn’t think about the sexuality of even the most chaste characters as primary to what makes them up, or inject more of it than strictly necessary into a character or story. Doctor Who, especially the 10th Doctor, is a prime example of the evolution of relationships, although it is in fact the 8th Doctor who first showed true signs of this development. When he first kissed Grace, his companion at the time, in the Doctor Who movie, the fandom strongly rejected the move as a betrayal of the character. However, it came to be accepted more as time passed, and future writers of the series, such as Steven Moffat, decided to develop this into the series that followed. In my opinion, Moffat is very overeager with this aspect, and perhaps has pushed it inappropriately in the series since the time of Rose. Clara, River, and a whole assortment of people the Doctor has kissed or married. Do I think he has betrayed the character? Well, not wholly. I firmly believe that it goes into the Doctor’s development as a character, of course. I love the Doctor, and if he wants to pursue something he hasn’t before since, assumingly, his life on Gallifrey, then of course I will accept him for that. And I also grant you that whenever he has kissed or married any of the female characters, there has always been a legitimate reason for it; to do otherwise, I think, would be the true betrayal. However, I also believe that, even if he has taken several hundred years — or more, judging by the most recent season — in his various bodies to develop his new emotions of attraction, I believe they have been fairly shallow compared to his love for them besides that, apart from the obvious Rose exception. As revealed since the 12th Doctor’s regeneration, his most recent regenerations have shared connections that led him until recently to veil his face in order to hide his age, his turmoil, and his distance from them (“Don’t let him see the damage” works just as well in reverse). As 12 himself has said, hugs are like hiding your face. He is as in love with the universe and exploring it as he’s ever been, but he’s also been so hurt by his history that he’s begun to fear the change that is inevitable in it. He holds the same convictions that he always has, but his hearts are also at odds with it. In the most recent season of Doctor Who, he has given an impassioned speech about the importance of peace, but when trapped inside a Gallifreyan prison of sorts at the end of that season, expressed just the opposite of that conviction. All this shows how his hearts are being torn in two, between the man who wants peace and the man who has learned to fight.

There is another aspect of Doctor Who that is interesting. Watching Classic Who, I find its representation of women much better than Star Trek’s, but conversely Star Trek’s representation of race is also much more diverse than Doctor Who’s. In both series’ representation of women, there is of course a representation of the ideals of its time. But Doctor Who’s representations of Susan, of Barbara, of later companions like Sarah Jane, are both diverse but also shows the women being more engaged in the action than on relationships, something more women of Star Trek can’t claim. I won’t claim that Star Trek women aren’t diverse in their own right, of course, but there are certain attitudes also present in Star Trek, not only towards gender but to an extent even race (as in certain indigenous societies the Enterprise comes across) that can be troubling; women in Star Trek, especially those indigenous of certain planets, are often exoticised, sexualised, romanticised, sometimes against their own agencies, as in Metamorphosis. Sometimes they are used as stereotypes, or to legitimise certain attitudes against them, as in Catspaw. And it isn’t to say that these episodes aren’t well constructed away from that, or that the characters are flat, but the fact that they aren’t flat perhaps lends more legitimacy to them. At the same time, however, in Is There No Truth In Beauty?, an aide to Medusan Ambassador Kollos is shown to have agency throughout, even amongst accusations of not being a woman, or being told by Kirk rather selfishly that she must eventually fall under her urges. Selfish, because it’s a more a reflection on him than her, and because by saying so he denies her own feeling even as he tries to draw it out.

Between Star Trek and Doctor Who, I also find the characters of the Doctor and Mr Spock most intriguing, particularly going by what each aliens physiology has to say about them. For example, Vulcan biology belies heightened mental awareness and sensitivity to their own kind, and the biological event of their blood boiling during Pon Farr indicates and an underlying passion to the race. However, the fact that Vulcan hearts also don’t beat also belies dispassionate suppression, and they are also a very logical race, whether because of social construction or evolution, which has caused the race to reject body over mind, as well as become a collective and exclusive race. They also contain green blood, as they have more copper than iron in it, and pointed ears, a possible inherited trait from their assumed feline ancestors, which indicates a certain inhumanity about them. On the other hand, the Doctor has a physiology closer to humans, with the only true exception in their bodies being an extra heart which, much like the Vulcan’s burning blood of Pon Farr and high tolerance for heat, indicates a high level of passion. However, in addition to this, some Gallifreyans including the Doctor also have something extra, given to them as with all Time Lords when sent to look into the untempored schism. It may be concluded that those Gallifreyans chosen are the ones proven to be sensitive to a mental transformation as a result, that would allow them to become Time Lords and thus in tune to the universe. All citizens with this ability are then trained, it could be argued conscripted, into the Academy. Given this history, that already shows two layers of sensitivity in Time Lords, as opposed to the Vulcans’ one, so there is a clear difference between the Vulcan and Gallifreyan races. And Spock and the Doctor are both clear representations of their races, and yet both are also divided between their home planets and Earth. It seems self-centred of us, then, that even the most famous of our humanoid alien characters in science fiction should be tied to Earth like this. But perhaps it is an important connection to understanding them.

Now let’s take a moment away from the analytics to focus on how I feel about and interpret these characters. First, we’ll start with Spock.

Spock, like the rest of his race, is a touch-telepath who, despite this deep connection, strives largely for a life of disconnect from his emotions. Being a telepath, and even being a Vulcan, this flies in the face of what is natural, as his emotions, mind, and body, are highly attuned and sensitive, more than most on the outside. Being logical, despite these things, makes sense, when you consider how difficult such heightened senses are. Think of a person with Aspberger’s Disorder or something similar. Their senses are overwhelming; too loud, too close, too sharp. Sound, sight, and touch. Aspberger’s Disorder people are also highly logical. It’s the only way to make sense of the world, bring order to it out of the unbearable chaos. Vulcans, and by extension Spock, are the Aspbergers of the universe.

Time Lords, on the other hand, are the Watchers of the universe. Think of the Watcher from 4’s regeneration. The Doctor is somewhat apart from his race, but not entirely. He interacts with the world, in the face of his race, yet he also watches it up close. You have only to look at 10 and his exclamations of “Oh, you’re beautiful!” and “brilliant, you are,” to see that, although it doesn’t stop and start with just him. Alike with Star Trek, the Doctor just loves to explore. Unlike Spock, however, the Doctor swells with love and doesn’t shy away from it. He allows himself to feel so fully that he needs an extra heart to fit it all in. He loves more fully than humans can understand, because he doesn’t just love one but many. He loves all his companions, even occasionally his enemies, and sure he has favourites, but over the years that love only grows, and becomes more complex, to the point where, in the modern series, he kisses, and falls in love, and becomes more heartbroken. It’s true that even in Classic, he began seeing his companions as he died, but this is a tradition only continued in Modern with 11’s death, seeing Amy one last time.

In this way, both Spock and the Doctor love ‘the many’ as opposed to the human ‘few, or the one’. (Spock senses the deaths of an entire Vulcan crew, and tells McCoy, “You speak of the objective hardness of the Vulcan heart, yet how little room there seems to be in yours.”) Further, these characters are explorations on the human capacity for love and connection through progression of their races, although this could also be true of Starfleet itself, and the openness towards the human races, at least, within that organisation. The grandest idea among all being, that we are our best when we love, deeply, that and those which surrounds us.

[P.S. Due to the collectivism of his culture, I think there are also aspects of Eastern-style culture in his race.]


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Despicable Me and Megamind: a look at the Good vs Evil dynamic

I have only seen the first Despicable Me movie, and this was a fair time after its initial popularity. Certainly it’s not the first time I have been late to the whole popular kids movie bandwagon, as it’s happened before with Madagascar and Frozen. I had seen the trailer, focusing on the villian protagonist and his rivalry against another villain who was beating him out, and that coloured most of my impression of the film, even when later Minions became such a thing. However, like I always do, I eventually bowed to pressure and watched it, just to see what all the fuss was about.

A part of me had hoped it really would be as simple as a villain rivalry, without it becoming a villain redemption story, but being a kids movie, I always knew deep down that hope was doomed to fail from the start. Yet still I clung to the thought, cheered at his villainy behaviours and quietly tensed at his moments of redemption. It isn’t that I didn’t care for him as a character, or the kids who he let into his life and changed him. I guess I was just tired of the cliche.

It was no Megamind. Sure, Megamind follows the same formula of villain redemption (I never said I hated that formula; I love it), but there is something about Megamind’s character that appealed to me stronger than the protagonist of Despicable Me, there was something more in it not only of his journey, but his rival’s. It was the dichotomy they were both pushed into, that they each had to play out, and that they both grew tired of and ill-fitted for. They were both living a lie forced on them by society, and they both eventually managed to break out of those roles, and I really loved it.

There was another thing I loved about Megamind, though. That was the fact that, unlike most stories, Megamind actually got his play of the city. As a villain, he actually won. And we got to see what that actually looked like, because that never happens. The typical superhero movie is all about the fight, not the ends. But like it or not, there’s an actual socio-economic consequence to all that fighting, and it was allowed to happen in Megamind’s city. Megamind came to own everything in that city, yet it was hollow, because he wasn’t ever fighting for anything. What did he really want the city for, what would he do with it? The truth is, he only wanted it to prove that he could, to prove he was worth something and that he wasn’t just some loser villain. But that brought him nothing.

And then, of course, his journey brought him to hero status led not just by the love of a girl, but by the playing out of his good vs evil fantasy. Once again, he was able to prove himself, this time as a hero, he got the girl, and was presumably able to live a more fulfilling life.

When it comes to Despicable Me, I suppose there are also certain things to like about it. The children the protagonist adopted were meant to used as tools, and that is how he used them. But at the same time, they were not tools, they were children, and he needed to do right by them. They weren’t things he could control, to a point, and at one point I remember that he was forced to play by their rules in order to put them to sleep. That was an important moment, but it was the start of him changing, of him letting down his guard and letting someone else dictate his actions. It was prioritising something besides him and his plans. And then when he sent the kids to infiltrate his rival’s lair, I got excited, thinking they were about to become partners in crime, that he would raise them to be like him.

But that’s not what happened. It went the other way, and they influenced him to be like them. And I’m not saying that if this story was real life, I’d necessarily be rooting for them to follow in his footsteps. But there’s something to be said for fiction, and the wide range of experiences it can represent. If it had gone the other way, though, what message might it have sent to the audience? Who might become its audience? Who would watch a story like that?

Certainly I would. Perhaps it would garner an audience of outcasts. Perhaps it would raise a controversy from parents if nothing else were changed. Who knows? Films today are growing into a more nuanced view of good and evil, so perhaps this is all just part of the transformation into a newer, more complicated view of the world and how it works. What might the next two films of Despicable Me have become, if the first film had been about the dark path? What would the endings look like to make the films acceptable? If they didn’t end in a celebration, or a scene of bonding, what would they be?

The answer’s up to your imagination.


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Dawn, and the (extended) Stages of Grief

I have long been a follower of the five stages of grief, and tried to incorporate them into my series. Dawn, being at the heart of such a series, would be the main perspective of such a journey, and I’ve tried to plot out each stage of this.

Thanks to a post at Neutrois Nonsense, I’ve come to wonder if it isn’t sometimes more complicated than a rigid five stage system. So I wanted to try again to plot this out using that post’s structure.

Shock

The circumstances of her initial escape (including the murder of her father), and the consequences following that (including rape and murder by strangers of both herself and her sister), result in an overwhelming shock state born of many conflicting emotions like sadness, anger, and disbelief.

Denial

As she fights for survival, protection and safety, she begins to deny the consequences of her escape, refusing to accept her changed identity and body, and idealises her perspective to the point that anything she does is just and deserved, even as she carries out revenge acts equally as bad as those committed against her.

As Alex (her rapist) continually reminds her of what happens, and forces his own opinion upon her desire, she fights back with her truth, while ignoring that past that she fears would erase that truth for his.

Pain

She begins to remember all the things he’s telling her, and remembers not all of it’s bullshit. She knows exactly what happened to her, and now she gets flashes of it happening again, settling in her like weight stuck to her heart. She is haunted by the memory, present everywhere, and can no longer deny the truth. She feels broken and helpless.

Guilt

As she comes to terms with what happened, she blames herself for not being strong enough to stop it or prevent it. She languishes in regret, leading her to react out of stress.

Anger

She becomes angry about what is happening to her in the present moment, and begins to fight back against the boys that caused her to fall apart and both her and Brenda (her new friend and support) to fear for their lives and safety. She becomes resentful of the unfairness of their lives, and acts out. She begins revenge attacks against them.

Shame

After fighting for a long time, she grows weary of her anger, and it melts away to reveal shame. Shame of what he turned her into, as well as what she turned herself into afterwards. Without her anger, she becomes self pitying and starved for understanding, from herself and others. But instead, she turns what anger is left upon herself, and denies herself gratification. She hides herself away where she thinks he can’t find her.

Bargaining

He finds her, and they become trapped together. He attacks her, and she stands up for herself, fighting only in self defence. Forgetting her shame while she’s trapped, after she gets out she fights for her survival again, until she becomes the sole survivor.

She discovers then that she has another sister, and sets out to find her, thinking that if only she can rebuild what she once lost, she’ll be okay. But Brenda turns against her, fearing Dawn but also fearing that she’ll endanger her sister, and commits herself to rescuing that sister.

Depression

When years pass, and Dawn finds her path blocked on every turn, she begins to feel lonely, and craves to fill the emptiness with whatever she can. But it’s never enough, and she falls into addiction. At this time, Brenda faces her and tries to lead her to recovery, but only ends up as a tool to her addiction.

Restructure

Eventually, Dawn rejects Brenda when she discovers another way to get close to her sister, Seth, and manipulates him to get close to Andrea (her sister). Brenda catches on to this, and fights against Dawn reaching her. But this time Dawn breaks through and reaches Andrea. However, it turns out more difficult than expected, when conflict arises between the sisters and Dawn still ends up feeling alone.

Shock

She realises she’s been rejected once again, and begins to feel unstable and heartbroken.

Denial

She refuses to let this feeling take hold again, and shuts down her emotions.

Pain

Pain breaks down her walls, and she feels everything so intensely, she endangers herself and everyone around her.

Guilt

She regrets her actions, and the pain and fear she caused, turning hatred against herself.

Anger

Her self-hatred burns through her, and she takes it out again on those around her.

Shame

She feels ashamed of herself, and shuts out the world, to protect them and herself.

Bargaining

She begins making promises to herself that she can change, that all she needs is another chance, or to return to the world only under certain circumstances.

Depression

When she fails to follow through on her promises, she begins to think she isn’t worth anything, she’s evil, she’s a burden, she doesn’t deserve to live in the world where she can hurt people. She thinks she needs to be locked up.

Restructure

She begins to think that the only way to function in the world is to find love in herself, to find connections, and to self-reflect on why she acts out so often. That way, she can stop herself before she starts.

Acceptance

After moving once again through the grief stages, she comes to a place where she realises she has friends, and she doesn’t have to fight against herself, push them away, or prove herself against an enemy. She begins fighting for herself, beside Andrea and Brenda, and finds that she has finally found a family, and a home.