I found this among my folders the other day. I LOVE the voice of it! However, I don't remember writing it! :) And I don't remember what I was going to do with it. It is obviously not finished. But I'm fresh out of ideas. I don't know where to take this. So this is me brainstorming. I'm posting this to see what your reactions are. Is it terrible and a waste of time? Or does it provoke interest? AND WHERE SHOULD THIS GO? I'd love to hear your responses and any ideas you may have! Perhaps this is one we could write together!
The first time I saw him, I lay heavily sedated in my hospital bed.
What a day that had been. I’d gone up the mountain with my siblings for some skiing and bonding. Some bonding we were having now! The tree came out of nowhere. Three of us made it out with only a few bumps and bruises. Me? I wasn’t so lucky. But really, one out of four isn’t too bad of odds. It could be worse. Right?
Of course, I was hurt the worst. I even wore my seatbelt. I don’t know why it was me. It has always been like that too. Everything always happened to me. At least everything bad. If there was a lottery to be won, Silvia would win that. She just had a way with numbers. If there was an artsy contest to be won, the prize would go to Nettie, no questions asked. If we were in a crowd of people, Dylan would be the center of attention. If tragedy were to occur, it always happened to me.
I was the only one to break any bone in my body. (And it’s not like Dylan didn’t try. We had both been swinging from the tree that day and we both fell. His bones must be made of rubber.) I was also the only one to be hospitalized for anything. Mom said that’s just the way things work sometimes. But I have no idea how things like that just find me.
The broken car shouldn’t have broken down. I took excellent care of it. My dog should never have attacked me. I fed him and took him on a long run every day. Even the near drowning in the lake was some bazaar twisted accident.
Trouble just seemed to follow me. I often stared at myself in the mirror, wondering if I was invisibly marked by an angry god. Sylvia would laugh at me and tell me I was even more beautiful than the day before. Ha! Not likely. When compared to her golden curls and full lips, Nettie’s fashionable figure, and Dylan’s charm, I was left with nothing. By the time I arrived, the gene pool had been depleted.
Not that I’m complaining. I had a full and happy childhood. Bad things always happened to me, but I never felt ostracized or unloved. In fact, until this latest accident, it never occurred to me that no one else in my family suffered from the trials of unwanted bad luck. It was in that hospital bed, my legs propped up and in casts, my torso and neck wrapped in a brace, and my arms pinned to my sides that I contemplated this.
I groaned. If only I had my hands free. That would be better than this. This immobility was terrible. Accident prone as I was, I had a passion for movement. I moved when I spoke, and I thrived in sports. Unfortunately, that was not always a good thing. I almost always come away with some sort of wound. Strangely enough, I still possessed all my teeth.
But my hands. As confining as my condition was, if I had my hands, at least I could write. Writing was my breath.