Here I lie

Here I lie.

Here I lie. Sixteen years old and bed bound. My legs, if you can call them that, don't work and haven't worked since last year. I was in my mother's car driving to my netball game - she was never fond of letting me go with the other girls on the school bus - when this happened, I guess. It's funny that I wish she had let me go on the bus just this once.

"Maeve!" My mother called I not having left my bed yet. "You'll be late for your game!" She continued to call. It was a Saturday, and I had a netball game - great. I slowly mopped out of bed, not a care in the world. Oh, how that would change. I never really cared for sport it was more of my mother's dream than anything. She always wanted to be an Olympic winning athlete, but that ship sailed, and it's poor little me who has to learn to sail it again.
"Maeve!" She called once more.
"I'm coming!" I yelled back, regretting the tone and slumping down the stairs . It had always been just me and mum. My father, not that he ever was one or will be one, left well before I was born. He sent mum money every once in a while and a birthday card if he felt like it, but nothing else. He didn't care he never cared, but that never seemed to bother me - until now.
"Watch that tone, missy," Mum warned. I sat in front of where she stood, and a hot tea and slice of buttered toast with a banana next to it greeted me. Mum always said that a good breakfast was the best way to start a day right - not that my days were any good or right in any way.
"Thanks," I mumbled. I wasn't hungry. I was never hungry in the mornings. It made me feel sick very at that, but Mum was always insistent that I ate breakfast even if I didn't want to.
"You have ten minutes, then we're on the road. A long drive ahead of us can't afford the traffic," she said the same thing almost every competition day. I hated it, but now I sort of miss it. I miss knowing she was there and that she cared. I miss knowing I had someone who would take care of my every need, my every command. God, I even miss netball a bit.
You are probably wondering what happened or what went wrong or what was cause of me being bed bound. And I'll get into that at some point, but for now, I want to describe my mother on that faithful day, that faithful morning, that faithful hour.
My mother was always an astout, proud, and proper lady she never left the house without applying makeup first, and you would never see her in a tracksuit - ever. She often wore heels - kitten heels were her go-to- or a slightly healed pump or flat. I'm not sure what it's called. She never wore trainers or flip-flops. Come to think of it, and I don't think there's much she did wear. Jewellery, make-up, heels, dress, and perfume all she ever wore. Her hair was always slicked back into a neat bun with a diamond clip in it of some sort. Of course, it wasn't real diamond - we couldn't afford that - but she would tell people it was. You may be wondering why I am telling you this and what it means. Well, let me tell you. On the morning of our accident, my mother was not made up. She had a cardigan on with leggings and slippers. Her hair was left out unbrushed, and she had no jewellery, perfume, or make-up on. It's strange to think of my mother like that now, but I don't think I took any notice of it before and wish I had. Of course, I looked her up and down like I did every morning just to see what she was wearing, but I never really took notice of her clothing. Every item of clothing my worn by my mother was handpicked by her to wear that day to make her look and feel powerful but not this day. Her outfit meant something else. Maybe she was tired or hungover or bored of dressing up, or maybe she didn't care anymore. I thought every option was over, but nothing seemed to click. She hadn't been drinking, and she wasn't on any medication - as far as I knew - and she always slept a full eight to ten hours so she would wake up early. I have just sit here and wait for the doctors to tell me what happened - it's not like I can do much else. I don't know if my mother's alive and well. I don't know where she is. Is she in trauma? The ICU? Surgery? The morgue? Where is she? I want my mother. I want to replay the morning. I want to notice more.

~Authors note~
Hello! This is my first attempt at writing a book to upload. I tend to write books and never post them, and I don't really know why. Essentially, if you have any feedback, I'd love to know what you have to say. Please be kind, though I'm new and nervous. Also, I am very sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes. I struggle to spell and punctuate sentences properly. One last thing, I'm not very active and have quite a hectic life, so I'm very sorry if I don't post or upload a lot.

Thanks for reading chapter 1 of Here I Lie.

Word count with authors note: 966 words.
Word count without authors note: 846 words.

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