βĨŦŦĨŇg ĆØŁØŘ

{Helpless}

Helplessness is a constant with me. My ability to walk was shattered because of the incident I'm not allowed to know about. My hearing is impaired, so I can't fully understand what's happening. And my vision is in black and white like a piano.

My name is Victor, Victor Adam Price. I'm 17 years old and I spend my life stuck in a wheelchair that has a squeak to it. My mom is trust worthy and a hard working person but she has a drinking problem. My father, who's overly aggressive, also has a drinking problem. They're all I've got in life right now. Sometimes I wonder if I should have a drinking problem too, just to fit in. But don't misunderstand me, I love my family, we all have our flaws don't we?

I've learned to deal with ours.

Its morning and Mom's getting ready for work. The house is quiet, not a sound is heard except the light rustling sound of her makeup being applied to her face. The light filtering in through the window catches sight of all the little dust particles as they float around. Out of boredom, I try and catch some when she notices me from the corner of her eye and smiles to herself.

She finishes up her makeup and turns to me tapping her foot on the floor to get my attention. The vibration travels through the floor to my unhearing ears. Odd right? I can't actually hear words but I can hear knocks or light taps. They're almost as clear as day but that's as far as it goes.

I turn my attention to her as she signs to me.

"I'm going to leave a bit of money with you. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind going to the store and getting a few things for dinner?"

I nod and she gets up patting my head before handing me the small pouch of money.

"Don't loose it"

I nod again, her hand hesitating on my head for a moment before she leans down to kiss my forehead.

"Thank you"

She taps my chair and walks out. I listen to her footsteps as she goes down the stairs and out the front door. Wheeling around, I squeak my way to the stairs. I lock my chair in place as I lift myself out of it and onto the floor. From there I unlock the wheels and push it down. I watch it roll and flip a few times before landing on its side at the bottom. Slowly, I start to scoot myself down the stairs. I use one of my arms to lift both my legs and my other arm to hold onto the railing. These are the kind of days I wished that people invented fancy staircase wheelchairs for disabled people. And other days, I just wish someone would put a slip and slide on the stairs to make it easier. Slowly but surely I make my way down with one hand on the railing and the other reaching for the next step. Halfway down, my hand gets pricked by something. I jumped from being startled and I slipped, tumbling down the stairs. The first roll hurt the most as my shoulder connected with the edge of the stair and I felt a small crack. Wildly, I fumbled for something to grasp when my hands grazed something hard and I desperately clung to it.

I stopped half way down, practically dangling from the railing. I used as much arm strength as I could to pull myself up when pain shot through my right arm causing me to lose my grip. Gladly, I still held on with my left hand. I kinda figured that my right arm may or may not have been fractured but there wasn't much I could do about it.

Finally, I got back to a sitting position on the stairs and this time carefully continued my journey down. When I made it to my wheel chair, I just sat there resting my head on it, glad that it was finally over. After I caught my breath, I tried to get back in it before all the adrenaline disappeared and I no longer had the strength to pull myself up.

I managed to lift it up and awkwardly pull my self into the seat. I threw my head back, letting out a rushed breath of air. (Now I just need to get to the store and back without dying.)

I start to squeak towards the door as I reach down to grab the pouch. I stop when I realize its no longer in my pocket. I hesitate for a moment, I already knew where it was but I was really hoping I was wrong. I turned around to see that I was in fact right because there it was, the little silver pouch resting at the top of the stair's.

(God damn it)

I actually considered just sitting there and staring at it until someone came to my aid but I thought better of myself. I squeaked back towards the stairs, lowering myself as best I could onto the floor without hurting myself.

Leaning against the stairs, I take a deep breath before lifting myself up each one again but this time I carefully pull myself to the top.

Every stair I went up it felt like new ones had appeared out of nowhere, making the trip seem longer. But it was probably due to the fact that my arm was messed up and I couldn't move as fast.

Finally, I had once again made it back up to the top. Snatching the money pouch, I yell at it before stuffing it back into my pocket as if screaming at it would satisfy the anger I felt at myself for leaving it up here in the first place. Looking down the stairs again, I felt exhausted and actually wondered if it would be wrong of me to crawl to my room and go to bed. But I didn't, instead I started to make my way down the stairs... again.

On my way down, my dog zero trots by the stairs. He rounds the corner, then turns right back around looking at me, tilting his head to one side. I do it back because I think its funny. He trudges up the stairs to me to lick my face. I try and shew him away and push him a bit.... That was probably the stupidest idea. I had pushed him with My left hand, leaving my weak, right arm to hold all my weight. It gave out sending me toppling down the stairs again. At one moment I'm airborne and the next I'm not moving at all. Did I die?? I feel arms tighten around me and movement. Confused, I open my eyes to see my fathers broad back and hairy legs.
We turn as he heads back down the stairs.

At the bottom he places me in my chair and signs to me.

"Are you okay?"

I nod even though its a lie, I wont let him know my arm is hurt. That would make me sound weak. Besides, I know he cant afford to have me admitted into a hospital. So I have to lie .. we cant waste anymore money on me. I've already become such burden to my family, with my disability and all. That's something we can't afford to keep up with.

He looks at me for a moment, questioning if I'm okay before squeezing my arm. The bad one too, of course and I try to hold in a scream. He nods, giving me a weak smile as he walks back into the living room.