Audrey Indigo the Writer

Three Weeks, Two Days, Zero Words Per Minute

I slowly walk up the stairs of my home. I haven't taken a shower in three weeks and it's killing me. I look into the bathroom where the shower awaits. My mom suggested a bath, but I hate baths. I just think she's being worrisome as always.

I walk inside and past the counters. Then past the toilet and to the bath/shower. I lean in and try turning the shower handle. My left hand slips. I try for a little bit longer and finally it turns. Perfecting the heat, I take off my clothes.

I step into the shower. The water caresses my body. It flows down from my shoulders to my feet. I turn my face into the water and push my now-wet hair back.

I reach for the bar of soap, but nothing happens. There's no soap in my hand. Looking to my right, I realize that I was reaching with my right hand, which is now non-existent.

It's a force of habit. I am, well, was, right handed, so everything I do is with my right hand.

Turning awkwardly, I try to pick up the soap with my left hand. It falls on the floor and slides toward the drain.

"No, soap, don't do that," I say, turning back to the speeding soap.

I take one small step and slip. Falling to the right, my stub hits the wall, then leading to my head banging against the wall as well. I fall violently onto the floor.

Crying out in pain, I watch as hot water pours over me. I hear footsteps running up the stairs. The door swings open and I see my mom's worried face. I feel so weak and vulnerable, but that's not the reason tears run down my face.

***

After my mom turned off the water, dried me off, and helped me into my clothes, she asked me continuously if I was alright. I screamed at her and slammed my door in her face. Though, I can't really decide why. I just broke.

I never really realized how hard this was going to be. I just thought I was superhuman, and nothing would be hard.

But what hit me when I fell in that shower was a terrible, horrifying realization. I can never write again. Writing is what I do, it's who I am. I'm Audrey Indigo the Writer. I can't hold a bar of soap in my left hand, let alone write a book.

A single tear slips out of my eye and runs down the side of my face. After that, there's no stopping it. Tears gush out of my eyes, soaking my cheeks.

After a few minutes pass, there's a knock at my door.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" Says my mom, her voice muffled.

Gulping, I call, "Yeah, I am."

I tried sounding calm, but my voice sounded throaty and cracked.

Soon enough, the door knob twists and the door opens. She pokes her white-blonde head in first. Then, slowly, the rest of her body follows. She walks over to me as I turn my head to avoid her seeing my tears. Sniffling, I watch her as she sits on the bed next to me. She wraps her arms around me. I lean back into her hug and let myself go.

Deep, wracking sobs shake my body. Tears refuse to stop pouring out of my eyes, making it impossible to see. I close my eyes and let her hold me.

When my body stops shaking, I say, "I'll never write again."

She shushes me and strokes my hair.

"You'll write. It will take time, but you'll write again," she says softly.   

"No," I say in between tears, "I can't even hold soap with my left hand. I will never write again."

"Yes you will," I'm told.

"No, I won't. I'm done with that."

She holds me closer and her voice gets a little stricter.

"You aren't done. If you give up, you'll never start again. What happened isn't the end. We will get through this together. You aren't alone. I'll always be here," she says to me.

But, why me? Why did this happen to me?" I ask, more tears spilling from my eyes.

I don't get an answer. She just sits there, holding me and stroking my caramel hair. I repeat the words in my head. Why me, why me, why me? They go through my head until I slip into a dark, painless sleep.