Her one thought was to save her right leg so she turned as she fell, landing on her left side atop the left crutch. The padded coat took the blow—but a crack registered under her.
The right leg still jolted with the fall, and a shock of pins and needles swarmed it. She gasped into the hood, reflexively grabbed the obdurate hardness of the cast under Aunt Vic's jeans.
She waited, eyes closed, heart pounding. A little swell of nausea licked the bottom of her stomach and receded.
It's okay, it's okay, she thought, focusing on long, deep breaths to quiet the pain and panic. You're fine. It's all good and okay. It's not re-broken. Maybe the knitting-together had taken a shake, that was all.
She took a few moments before opening her eyes. She'd dropped the right crutch to grab her cast. The break had split the entire adjustment length into a pair of shards. The crutch was unusable.
She remembered the crack under her from when she fell. Shelly raised herself up on her elbow, then onto her palm.
The left side crutch was broken too. It had snapped just above the handgrip.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," she whispered in disbelief.
YOU ARE READING
Envenonmate
HorrorTamville has fallen silent...except for the buzzing from giant killer hornets. Cut off from the outside world, and on crutches from a broken leg, nineteen year-old Shelly knows she'll be safe once she closes the windows and stays inside. Then she re...
