My missing left hand is congenital, I was born without it. There was nothing but a miss-shaped flap of skin that was removed soon after my birth. I'd seen my records once I was legally old enough to request them. My mother put me up for adoption the day I was born and hid her trail well. I never found her but I don't think it's a mystery why she got rid of me. After all, if I was born physically disfigured, what else might be wrong with me?
Nobody adopts a disabled child. Nobody wants you without ten fingers and ten toes. I expect my introverted personality didn't help prospective parents warm to me either.
I got my first artificial hand when I was eleven. An adult-size reconditioned model from a charity. It was a pale, dirty pink, chipped and scuffed. The functionality was crude, a simple grasping of fused fingers and a thumb. It was ugly and stupid, and I hated myself for needing it so much. The other kids in the home teased me mercilessly. They called me 'fiddler' and 'crab' and ran screaming in mock terror from me. I hated them for it and envied them their luck; their fortune to be born whole, to be complete.
YOU ARE READING
Less Of Her
PovídkyClaudia is a shut-in, a nerd. She creates custom cybernetic limbs, unique works of art. Lumi is everything Claudia is not, exotic, exciting, outgoing. Claudia comes to realise they both have their secrets. Secrets that will tear them apart.
