That's not who I am

That's not who I am

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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Tue, Jul 21, 2015
"We must cut into her now!" "What do you mean . . . cut into her" His face stayed serious as he held tightly onto the scalpel in his hand. "She's my daughter you can't do this to her without my consent!" "You brought her here to find out what's wrong with her. Now let me do my job, I know what I'm doing." The worried mother reached for the scalpel as the doctor slit the young girls back, a look of confusion a dawn his face as he withdrew the knife from her back. As the pair took a closer look at the incision, no amount of blood was to been seen from the gapping cut. A single feather, the length of ones pinkie finger and speckled in blood, fluttered from within. "What the . . ."
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I blinked. My eyes began focusing on shapes. I could hear murmuring voices. I could smell medication. I could taste blood. I could feel scratchy blankets lying over my frail body. Three humans, talking under their breaths. A blue cast on my leg. Another on my arm. Stitches in my other 'leg'. More stitches on my face neck and chest. A huge stapled gash across my entire stomach, starting from my shoulder and going in a diagonal line straight across my body and ending at my hip bone. It had just avoided my heart. Tubes were threaded through my arms and other areas of my stomach. I was suddenly very aware of the amount of pain I was in. I cried out in pain and all three people turned to me. The middle one lurched forwards and took a needle from the side. The other two fussed around me, rethreading the tubes and checking that they were all fully functional. A sharp, aching pain pierced my neck and I caught the middle guy with a needle in my neck. My vision slowly began blurring again.

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