Young Writers Society

It would have seemed like an ordinary day, coffee in the morning, checking the mail, driving to work. No one ever expects the unexpected. It seems as if your life is preordained and set in an unending cycle of the same events. So when the unexpected does happen, well its unexpected. I can still hear the sound of my bones breaking, splintering into a thousand pieces like the shattered glass piercing my muscles. The steering wheel just seemed to detach from the dashboard like the top off a glue stick. I remember the way it smashed into my skull, the way it pushed my eyes into the back of my head, and the way my brain screamed at impact. I don’t remember my arm ever breaking but when I tried to crawl out of my car I can remember what it felt like to have your arm bent at an unnatural angle. But most of all I remember the regret, the guilt and the pain. Not the pain of my injuries but the pain within my heart. That pain I knew no amount of morphine or medicine could ever ease, no machine of any kind could make my heart beat the way it used to with the happiness and wildness of a young woman. A young woman with so many plans, and a fairytale future that would never happen. My entire future, my entire existence seemed to fade into a black hole. I became empty, nothing to live for except that small hope that I learned to bury deep into the dark abyss of my tortured mind. I couldn’t see anything I felt nothing except the kitchen counter, I couldn’t hear anything except the sound of my walking stick as it hit the hard concrete and anything else that beyond my ability to feel. This is the story of a young woman whose life was perfect in more ways than one, whose life was torn out of her bruised hands. But most of all this is the story about a young woman who was left lifeless and yet she still breathed. And about a man who brought her back to life. This is a story of how she learned to see again. This is my story.