The cold on my legs caused goosebumps to form across my
skin. My thin, tight jeans didn’t provide much protection from the cold. Spring
would be soon, the flowers would bloom, the trees green again. Though, I
wouldn’t experience it the same as everyone else. I had been diagnosed with a
strange illness. I didn’t bother to remember the name, basically I had
developed paralysis. The doctors say that before mid-June I will be completely
paralyzed. I will have no feeling in any of my body, I won’t be able to move. I
will be a prisoner. My family says that we will try anything to make me better,
the doctors keep reassuring them that they will try everything they can. Though
I know the truth, it’s all an act. One of the nurses pulled me aside and told
me there are no known cures for my condition, I would be a guinea pig in some
experiments. Poked, prodded, and injected with whatever they think will work.
My parents agreed to sign waivers for me to be used as a test subject. These
next few months could be my last free ones, and I don’t want to be somebody’s
science experiment.
I refused to sign any papers. My parents were shocked that I
didn’t comply, I didn’t want to be a lab rat for the last months of my life, I
wanted to be free. I wanted to travel, to see all of the amazing things that
people talk about on their death beds. The Grand Canyon, the jungle, the Taj
Mahal, going snorkeling in Hawaii.
I walked along the sidewalk and listened to the few birds
left in the neighborhood chirp, it’s far too cold for any bugs or other
animals, but the birds stay. They could come and go as they pleased, but they
stayed. Damned fools. If only they
knew to run as fast as they could, get out of here before it was too late. If I
had wings like them, I’d fly my ass right out of here, and never look back.
Everyone talks about the seven stages of grief when hearing news like this, but
nobody talks about the numbness. The sheer shock of it all, somehow you feel
less than before. Everyone around you goes through the stages, and you just sit
and watch. People often mistake this for depression, but it’s just numb.
My hands keep getting shakier, I’m afraid that soon I will
not be able to use them. My body goes numb sometimes and I fear that it is the
end, that I am trapped sooner than I expected. I am still free for now. I have
been going to the park and looking at the art, it’s beautiful. I am thinking
about starting to paint but with the way I have been deteriorating I doubt that
my work will get anywhere. Every day my muscles are less and less cooperative, I
feel my cage building itself up around me. The freedom is slowly leaving me,
soon I will be as much as a statue.
This is a two-part story, part two should be published by
the end of march.
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