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∙ ⸰ ⊱ 𝚑𝚎𝚛 ⊰ ⸰ ∙
Yet another dreadful day in your prison.
Birds chirp through the window, machines whir all around you, and footsteps echo down the hallway outside your door. The sounds don't bring you happiness, oh no. They bring you despair, longing, and a misplaced mind. They bring you elsewhere, to a sort of fantasy land—to that house sitting on the edge of that hill, some distance from the ocean you love so dearly.
But, wherever you may be in this moment, the routine will never end, tomorrows never stop becoming todays, and wounds never heal, no matter how many stitches may close them up. Your life will continue on, and eventually, you'll reach the finish line, whether you take two steps or zero.
You'll play your part until the play ends.
"C'mon, one more," Petra signals for you to move, but your weight seems to be much more than you can bear.
Before the operation, you never took the chance to get out of that damn bed. In your defense, you were strictly advised not to, even with the amount of painkillers they were pumping through you, hoping that when they'd lie to your body, that it would believe the pain was just its imagination.
The circulation of blood to your limbs was already lacking with the useless muscle in your chest, so lying on your ass all day didn't help to improve anything. You knew that, and the doctors knew that, but each of you knew the outcome of straining your tightly squeezed veins.
And for those last couple of days, the idea that you could move at all became an impossible thought.
If you take one step, you'll be able to take another—that's what you know for certain. Your veins will strengthen, your body will pump with blood, and some normalcy will return to you.
However, the fact remains: you will never be normal again.
‧𓈒 ݁𓇼 ݁𓈒‧
Only a week left of this.
Only a week left of being hooked up to machines, of having your privacy invaded day in and day out, and of not being where you want to be.
In seven days, you will be discharged, only to be visited on occasion by Carly, who has been asked to take on the role as your home health nurse. You would've expected she'd grown tired of you by now, but apparently not so much that she would pass the torch on to someone else. The only instances where you will be required to return to that place is for follow-up appointments.
But for now, you're here, and so is everyone else.
Your mom reaches for the purse that rests on the counter near the door, speaking to you with her head turned in the opposite direction, "What would you like from town?"
