And We Became Silhouettes

Chapter One | Playing Leap Frog With Crutches

I'm just experimenting with this story so i'm not making any promises to whether or not i'm continuing with this. Plus my writing sucks, I mean have you read We Were Made Faulty (is this a shameless self plug? I don't know). I don't even know what i'm doing with it and i'll probably don't know what to do with this story either.

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CHAPTER ONE | PLAYING LEAP FROG WITH CRUTCHES

HoOo0O0o0Onk

Crash

I don't remember much. All I know is that I was driving dangerously fast. I saw the headlights of an oncoming car. The flashing lights blinding me, coming together with mine. It was captivating. Like a gigantic light bulb in the middle of the road. The driver had stopped but I didn't. I slowed down, but I didn't stop. Then there was the sound of steel colliding and breaking. My insignificant life flashed before my eyes. My head hit the back of my seat as the air bag inflated.

Beep

Beep

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

I hear the beeping of machines, probably attached to some tragedy in a form of a human. I hear muffled sobs, screams, and useless condolences probably directed to the family of said tragedy. I open my eyes, my vision still blurry. Frantic doctors crowd around me. One of them notices my consciousness and opens my eyelids wider to blind me with a flashlight.

"Patrice Hale?" He places the flashlight on a tray near by.

I nod.

"Are you aware of what happened? Do you know how you got here?"

I stare blankly at him. I am aware of what happened but I do not know how I got here. I'm supposed to be laying in my death bed, not in a hospital bed.

"You were in a car accident. Someone else was involved, they're in the OR as we speak."

I lift my head up to look at the damage. I am covered in blood and my leg is split open. Another doctor pushes my head back down to press something against it.

"Forceps." The doctor commands a nurse. She pulls out a shard of glass.

I wince at the pain.

Crack

The doctor working on my leg yells. "We need to get her to the OR!" The doctors start prepping me. One of them injects something in the tube connected to my arm.

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I limp into the front doors of the school. Apparently staring and whispering has become a co-curricular activity, and everyone just happened to sign up. I guess I never got the memo. I tread through the crowd as fast as I can but fail, it just made me look more helpless than I already am. I struggle to open my locker while balancing on crutches. The halls are still filled with whispers. I finally gather the stuff I need for today and hop my way to homeroom.

Just as I enter the room I hear the static of the PA system coming to life. Miss Hales, please proceed to the guidance counselor's office now. Thank you.

Why do they do that? Why do they always say thank you? As if we just offered them something to eat their feelings with or as if we just did them a favor. It wasn't a favor, it was a command because that's what high school is; full of things we're expected to do. We're expected to get good grades and go off to college to become the traditional lawyer or doctor society expects us to be. Adding that little sarcastic thank you was just their way of showing us their fun youthful side. Oh the glory days.