The Fallen Stairs.

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

       

"Mom, is it getting worse?"

"I don't know sweetie. I am not the one going through it, you are. I do wish we could switch places." She starts to sniffle and I know very soon she is going to start balling her eye's out.

"Mom, please don't cry. You'll just make me feel bad."

"It's all my" Mother starts to sob, for the tenth time today." faaullt." 

"No it's not. Your not the one who gave me this diesease. It's my fault, I should have told you that I was hurting."

        We finally reach the drive way after what feels like eons. I open the door and walk into the house. 

*Boom*

"Rebecca, are you ok? Oh honey maybe we need to get you a-"

"NO MOM! I DONT NEED A WHEEL CHAIR!" I look up and see her hurt face. "I am sorry, it's just hard. I shouldn't have shouted at you about that." I grab the railing and pull my self up. I limp up the last few stairs into the house.

        Ever since I have been diagonesd with Motor Neurone Disease (MND) it's been hard to walk up the stairs. How pathetic is that. I can't even walk up the stairs. People take it for granted. I use to in till I realized how hard it can be with your muscles weaking. 

        I take two left turns into my bedroom. Wow it's a mess. Oh well. What am I going to do. I flop on my bed and grab my laptop. Time to do some cheering up. 

        Since the doctor said I probably wouldn't be able to play basketball last month, I have needed a lot of cheering up. Thank you to all the cheesy and corny movies on Netflix. You are the things that help me keep going.

        Today he said I won't be able to play basketball for a while in till my treatment is done. So basically I won't be able to play for the rest of high school. I can shoot a basket and dribble I just can't run around or scrimage. There goes that Butler scolarship. 

        While I wait for Netflix to load, I take off my jeans and Varsity shirt, and put of my favorite sweatpants  and sweatshirt on. I check my email. Still full of 'get better soon!' 'praying for you' 'sorry to hear about basketball' and of course 'now there's an opening for me'. Who writes that. Oh right, that turd, Sasha. Yeah like she's going to get my spot. She probably won't make JV. 

        I hit the edit button and am ready to click delete on Sasha's email. Then I think let's have some fun with this. I hit the reply button and start typing, Dear Sasha,