The Weight

The Weight

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WpMetadataReadOngoing18m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Wed, Jun 17, 2015
cuts littered my wrist. razors were piled high in the trash can. bloodied tissues were scattered around my floor. My wrist bled heavily dripping onto my white carpet. I glanced at the clock, tic toc tic toc. how much longer? How much time do I have before I can't lift the weight?
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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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