the countdown [] phan

m

time left: 3 years, 0 months, 27 days, 238 hours, 453,779,238 seconds until match made

i limp down the corridor, clutching my textbooks to my heaving chest as i make my way to maths.

i can hear their footsteps coming closer. only a few more steps, you can do it.

suddenly, my books are slapped from my grip and onto the floor. i inwardly groan; it's so difficult to lower myself onto the ground with a prosthetic leg. i turn around to be faced with two buff-ish looking chavs: tim maccavoy and rhett gregson.

'oi! it's ickle gimpy howell! where're ya off to? maths is it? here's a math lesson for ya: every time i hear yer fake leg make a noise, that's how many strikes you'll get. you get it?' i nod, just wanting to get to class. rhett grabs my rucksack straps and yanks me to my feet.

'say, tim... how many times did we hear his ol' leg?'

'more than twenty.' i gulp as rhett raises his hand to my face and strikes three times, blam-blam-blam. i scrunch my face up. he raises his hand once more.

'hey! what're you two doing to him?!' a voice calls from the end of the hall. i open one eye a bit to see layla zipping down the long corridor before pausing at tim's feet.

'get lost girlie. this is big-boy stuff.' you could practically see the rage explode from layla's body as she charges towards rhett and runs over both of his feet before doing the same to tim. they yelp out and rhett drops me on my side -painfully, might i add. their faces are red with anger, whilst layla just looks pleased with herself.

'get lost boys. this is big girl stuff.' layla says, mimicking them. they glare at her one last time before trudging back down the hallway.

while i'm still on the floor, i pick up my books. layla wheels over to me and smiles softly at me.

't-thanks... for that. i re-really... i really appreciated that.' i croak out, since i haven't spoken to another human being for at least a month. she smiles at me.

'not a problem. i'd help you up, but you'd only get a few inches off the ground.' i laugh- a real, genuine laugh, a laugh that hasn't been heard since louise left.

i latch onto the nearest locker's handle and slowly haul myself off of the ground with a tremendous effort.

after getting back on my feet, i extend my hand out to her.

'dan howell: loner, pianist and amputee.' she shakes my hand.

'layla smith: reader, violinist and also an amputee.'

'if you don't mind my asking; why did you get both your legs amputated?' i ask cautiously, not wanting to offend her.

'ran over by a tractor when i was three years old. what about you?'

'problem in the womb; no bones in my leg so it had to go. apparently, we're not modern enough to have skele-grow or something.'  she laughs.

is this what it feels like to have a friend?
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