Days, when my ears wake me up to some weird noises, are the worst. Unlike dramas and stories, I only wake up to the sound of my annoying, super annoying alarm, my mom knocking on the door or someone called by mistake. However, this time it was neither!
Some kind of beeping is what I hear in a steady rhythm. I open my eyes slowly and my eyes meet the white ceiling, the moment my nose start working again It took me seconds to realize where I am.
"sweetheart?" I hear my mom's voice, quiet, sad and scared.
"Hmm." Is what I manage to say and she brings me a cup of water automatically.
"here!" she holds the cup for me, "I will call the doctor, don't move." She ordered rushing toward the door.
Minutes later, the doctor entered with one of the nurses, "good morning," both of them said.
"I've got the test results," the doctor didn't waste time and started right away.
"can we discuss it outside, can you please first check my daughter's condition? She's been unconscious for two days." My mom said and I notice her messy hair and unironed white shirt.
"don't worry ma'am, she's just been tired and her body needed a long rest." The nurse said, "and as for her blood pressure and sugar level they're all fine!"
"what is the test for?" I ask in a low voice as I still feel my lungs aching everytime I breathe.
"it's for your left arm," he answered, "your mom said you are an artist." He smiled and I noticed mom's face turns paler.
"Fortunately, your right arm is totally fine. However, your left arm is a little bit... damaged." He said reading some notes from the papers in his hands, "good thing you can still use your right arm to paint, right?" he smiled and so did the nurse.
"she's left-handed." My mom's voice now was lower and filled with anger.
I for the first time glanced down at my left hand, hoping none of what he said was right.
YOU ARE READING
where we belong
RomanceEmma Moore, an artist who her art lack feelings and life, loses everything she once loved. Her home, her family and her art. she finds herself in the mountains lost and struggling with an injured hand and soul. where we belong? is the question Emma...
