The Warrior Spirit

Eleven

Broken and alone, I was left in the forest clearing after receiving the biggest beating of my life. I was sore all over, barely able to move. My leg wasn't the only part of me that was broken. Every joint hurt, breathing itself felt like torture, as I could feel my cracked ribs scraping the walls of my lungs with every breath I took.

One thing became clear to me as I lay prone on the forest floor, paralyzed with extreme agony. It was that my friends didn't only loath me, they were literal psychopaths. They'd clearly been looking for a reason to hurt me, an excuse to make me miserable, more so than I already was. Gregor's murder presented them with the perfect opportunity, giving them the means to justify their cruel acts. Yet I couldn't help but wonder what one could do to incite so much hatred from somebody.

Was this all because I was crippled? Was it why Bilal and Travis never really considered me a friend in all the time we'd been together? Perhaps if I was perfectly healthy and could get on my feet without any aid then I wouldn't have to endure so much hatred from everyone. Sarah wouldn't have quickly believed the accusations without bothering to hear my own side of the story. And maybe everyone I come across would first look me in the face rather than stare at the staff I carried around before making eye contact.

But what was the point anyway? Why bother anymore? I knew this life wasn't going to be easy right from the moment my illness started to manifest. It was in middle school, life was going smoothly. It hadn't been long since my parents passed away. And I remembered feeling so lost and miserable when I began to experience difficulties moving my left leg. I'd been anxious, petrified, and I'd kept asking Uncle Seth to get me to the hospital and have the doctors patch me up. But even then, it had been too late, and it turned out not everything was treatable after all. My condition could be managed with medications, and I did pretty good managing it. I'd always been adaptive. It did not take long to adjust to my new lifestyle, and back then, all I feared was myself, my aspirations, my dreams, everything made impossible with the presence of my current illness. Little did I know that my friends and classmates who used to visit me to issue their support would one day turn against me and treat me as an outcast.

When it started happening, I was disheartened. I'd never expected to be treated differently because of an illness, as I wasn't one to judge people based on their flaws and appearance. I had to learn the hard way after losing a lot of friends who felt ashamed of hanging out with the crippled boy. My identity shifted from being that of the handsome silver-eyed student everyone wanted to be around to becoming the handicapped boy that slowed everyone down and attracts way too much attention.

You might be wondering why I was reminiscing the past but it presently only seemed like the right thing to do. What else could I possibly do when my own life was flashing before my eyes as the blood drained from my body through the lacerations made on my skin by those mindless psychopaths.

I'd already accepted the saddening reality that I would not make it out of here alive. Hell, no one even knew about my secret adventure into the woods with my vengeful girlfriend and my much rather violent confrontation with Bilal and Travis here in the clearing.

My vision had turned into a blur and time seemed to be passing by more quickly. I began to realize that Uncle Seth must be worried sick about my whereabouts right now. It was barely evening before I'd shut my eyes, now forcing them open with every ounce of strength I had left, I noticed it was actually dusk.

The woods were much quieter right now, apart from the buzzing of mosquitoes and several other bugs exploring the large clearing I was abandoned in. But then the bats began to soar high in the sky, filling everywhere with their loud screeches, and even then, it was much more peaceful than the chaotic life I left behind.

The screeching stopped not long after, yet the buzzing noises from the mosquitoes still lingered, growing even more violent by the minute. If I could measure my consciousness by how much longer I had withstood their relentless buzzing and painful stings, I would say I wasn't up for longer than an hour before losing consciousness, as my eyes eventually gave in after registering the glowing sight of the full moon illuminating the vast expanse of the clearing.