Short story written with the inspiration of this post : www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompt…
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Everytime I wake up, reality hits me in the face once more. Lying on my back in my bed, flashes from the accident come back to me. A flashing green light, a blur of color passing through, the sound of metal crashing and being torn apart... The motorcyclist didn't survive. Who would after hitting a car at 120 mph and embedding himself two inches deep in a nearby brick wall? The crumpled remains of my car also tell of how bad the collision was for me too, but at least I'm still alive.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes before turning over on my stomach for a quick morning exercising session. I raise my left arm and right leg together, then do the same with the opposite limbs, and repeat the motion around twenty times. It's not particularly hard, but the doctor says it will help me get used to this new body. My scars are almost fully healed now, so moving has become a lot easier for me. However, I still have to relearn to do most of the things that once came naturally to me.
When I'm done with my exercices, I reach over to a button set on the side of my bed and press it. After about a minute, a nurse pops through the door and greets me with a smile.
"How are we feeling today?" She asks while setting the curtains aside.
"Better than yesterday," I answer, "hopefully worse than tomorrow."
"That's the spirit." After setting me against a few pillows, she takes my vitals as she does every morning. "Your blood pressure is still higher than normal, but nothing to be afraid of. Are you ready for your pain meds?"
I nod. Doctor says I should keep taking them for the next few days just in case I should get uncomfortable, but I haven't felt physical pain in a while. She places the pills in my mouth and helps me drink a sip of water. I wipe the corners of my mouth with my arms.
"I think Mr Brooks is hanging out in the hall, would you want to go around the block for a quick stroll?"
"That would be great, thanks." I smile at her. Before leaving, she lowers my bed and sets a wheelchair right beside it.
"If you feel like you're able to do it yourself, you can sit into the chair while I get Mr Brooks. If not, you can stay put in your bed and wait for me to come back, ok?"
I nod again. She turns around and leaves the room. As the door closes, I sigh. I can sit in the chair all right. I can do this, I'm ready.
Still sitting against a pillow, I tense my abs to bring myself upright, keeping some pressure down with my legs to prevent me from falling forward. The stitches on my legs were removed three days ago and, as opposed to my arms, they're still fairly sensitive. On my right side, the doctors managed to save my leg down midway through my calf, which will allow me to use a prosthetic when the healing process is complete. Of my left leg, however, barely anything remains. It was utterly obliterated during the accident and only a short bone still articulates from my hip. I waddle from side to side to get close from the wheelchair, hooking my right leg on the side of the bed when I get close enough, but the whole process takes time. When I'm right on the edge of the bed, I pivot 180° and slowly back up until I can lean against the backrest.
Phew. A little out of breath, but at least I made it. Now, all I have to do is wait. I'd love to release the brakes and wheel myself into the corridor, but since I also lost my arms in the accident...
Nurse Betty is back already. She says Mr Brooks has been waiting to walk with me for an hour now. Wow, I'm flattered. I didn't know I was such good company. She asks if I'd like the sleeves of my hospital gown to be rolled up and I agree. Although my shoulders are intact, my arms are entirely gone. Scars runs across my skin from back to front and the fresh air on my stumps make me shiver and shrug. THat's pretty much my entire range of movement up here, now.
As Nurse Betty reaches to open the door, I groan. Both my arms suddenly feel incredibly itchy and I can't scratch it off. This is so frustrating. I don't mind feeling pain in my remaining leg, but feelings in phantom limbs? That's the worst.
She opens the door and I greet Mr Brooks. He's an older man, probably around 60, that volonteers at the hospital a few days a week. Says it helps him keep his head off his late wife. A genuine good guy. meanwhile, the itch on my arms crawls down like ants on my skin until its localised only in my hands. I try to subtly roll my shoulders to relieve the feeling but to no avail. I guess I'll have to endure this for now.
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The garden feels nice today. Plus, some of my favorite patients are out for a walk too. An older lady recuperating from a particularly aggressive pancreatic cancer, and this cute girl from the 4th floor. I've heard she had a brain tumor and that the surgery was very sucessful in removing it, although she lost her hearing in the process. As we approach her, I smile at her and she waves back. A small white board and markers lay on her lap but she doesn't use it. Mr Brooks, deep into one of his stories, doesn't look like he's about to stop. But I would pretty much love to. Since the accident, I've been feeling so miserable that I don't dare interrupt people when they speak. I look down at the brakes of my wheelchair and frown. I waddle on my seat, thinking about what I would say to the girl. Nothing, of course, she's deaf. But god it would be nice to meet for real wouldn't it...
Mr Brooks's hand catches me just in time as my body jerks forward. My wheelchair must've bumped into a pebble and come to a stop, and my driver seems to think this is also the case although he can't seem to move the chair at all. The tingling feeling in my hands is barely tolerable now. I look down at where they would be and notice something out of place... The brakes. On both sides of the wheelchair, the brakes have sunken deeply into the rubber wheels, bringing us to a halt. When I look to my left, I notice I'm leveled with that young girl. Her brown hair frame her face nicely and she reaches for her board.
*Room number? Mine is 406.*
I grin and instinctively try to reach for her markers. For a moment, the crawling sensation vanishes from my fingers, and I can feel them make contact with something. I blink a few times and sit back, shaking my head in disbelief. How am I going to tell her my own address?
"Twoooo, fiiiiiiivee, Oooonee."
I articulate like a clown, my mouth wide open and manage to steal a short laugh out of her. She writes it down and turns the board around to confirm thatshe got it right. I smile and nod at her. Guess I'll just have to wait for her to visit me, then.
Mr Brooks is hard at work trying to remove the brakes from the wheels. Turning my attention to him, it feels like my head buzzes brieftly before the chair starts moving again. He chuckles and mentions his old age as an excuse for his lack of strength.
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When he wheels me back to my room, another nurse helps me on the bed and sets a plate of hospital food on a rack in front of me. Pretexting a slight headache, I say I'll try to eat later.
"Alright, but I'll leave the tray right here, ok? Just in case you feel like grabbing a bite."
It's on the right side of my bed, resting on a low table. It would be close enough for someone to extend a hand and grab the fork. Easy as that... I would have to lean forward and forage through my food directly in my state. I move to try to find a more comfortable position to sit, but the crawling feeling in my fingers come back stronger than earlier. God damnit, I would give anything to be able to scratch those ants out of my skin. When I first woke up, I thought the worse part of this would be my lack of limbs and my helplessness, but it's the phantom sensations that are killing me. I close my eyes and picture myself having arms again. With complete biceps, forearms and hands, all the way down to the fingertips. Then, I vigorously rub both arms with my hands trying to relieve me from this itch. My imaginary nails dig into my immaterial skin but nothing happens. I picture it harder and harder, so angry that my bed is shaking from all the rocking from side to side until I give up and throw my arms to the sides. A noise draws my attention to my right and I open my eyes.
My cup of water fell over in my plate, drenching my eggs and toast in liquid. I look up to see who my new visitor is.... But nobody's there. My room is empty. I look around the room and on both sides of my bed, but I'm still alone. The door is closed and hasn't been opened since the nurse left. In my figurative hands, the tingling has come to a stop.
Phantom limbs. Crawling feeling on my skin. The incident with the brakes. That weird feeling in my head when Mr Brooks released the....
My heart is racing. That can't be true, my hands are gone! I couldn't have caused that! My arms are gone, my legs are gone, I lost everything. But my brain is still intact. I've heard unbelievable stories about people who develop specific senses after losing one of the others. Like blind people whose hearing become much more accute. But me?
I straighten myself on the bed and focus on my shoulders. At how they are amputated before my arms can even exist. From there, I extend an imaginary limb on my right side, reaching forward towards the plate. My mind progresses, first through the upper arm, then through a ficticious elbow, and soon enough into a wrist that sprouts a hand and fingers. My shoulder still looks barren, but my mind is hard at work. After imagining the entire arm, I picture myself grabbing the fallen cup of water. When it starts vibrating softly, my heart rate quickens. By the time it's rolling around in the plate, I have forgotten how to breathe. And then..
It rises.
Through the air. I can feel my palm against the rugged plastic of the cup and my fingers holding it tight. In my field of view, I also see the pink scar on my right shoulder, exposed by Nurse Betty earlier this morning. I bring the cup over on my lap and think about drinking from it. Just as if I had hands, it floats delicately to my lips and I manage to catch a few drops that still lingered at the bottom. I flex my left hand before grabbing the cup, already more at ease with the feeling of this... this... thing. Holy crap... I transfer it back on my right hand and set it on the plate. I grab my spoon and, just like the plastic cup, it smoothly starts hovering in mid-air. I quickly manage to get a spoonful of eggs and successfully bring it to my mouth. I'm beaming. I certainly hope I'm not dreaming and give myself a slap to the face to wake me up. My head jerks right and I'm hit by an invisible force, not quite shaped like anything, but meant to be my left hand. Fuck that hurts!
I visualise my hand again and push the spoon away from my mouth, extending my arm completely until it stops retreating. Then, focusing my mind on the utensil, I push it even farther. From being above my legs, it travels over the bedrest and accross the room, clinking against the opposite wall. I still feel my hand around the spoon, but that would mean my arm is 5 or 6 times longer than it's former length. I stop concentrating on it and it drops to the ground. My eyes dart to the cupboard when the tv remote is and I motion in it's general direction. The door creaks open and I catch the remote, bringing it over on my lap. This time, I don't feel like I'm using my hands. I just kinda... Move it. I think about it and imagine myself moving the object, and the object answers. The remote goes back in the cupboard, and on my bed again. And around the room. Behind me, I give my pillows a good whack and set them up properly. I throw my sheets off the bed and push down with my feet on the bars of my bed, effectively feeling my back being compressed against the back rest. Pulling my own body up with this unnatural force, I levitate ever so slightly. This is harder than I thought. I guess I'm heavier than a metal spoon. I rotate my body to the left side of my bed and drop my right leg down towards the ground, feeling out for the contact of my feet on the tiles. There it is. First the right, then surprisingly the left. The short stump of my leg contracts as I push myself off the bed, simultaneously pushing down with me legs and pulling me up with my arms. I'm standing up! Well, I'm floating! I'm upright! This is working! This is incredible! I feel like I'm being reborn a new man! I raise my arms in victory...
...and thus releasing the upward pull on my body, causing me to crash down on the floor. The landing is terrible. Without any preparation, my torso goes limp and I flop down, hitting my shoulder and head in the process. Fucking idiot. Now what? I notice an alarm button on the side of the bed and press it with my mind. A few seconds later, two nurse erupt into the room to help me up, one holding my bottom, the other one hugging me from behind. This isn't the first time I've needed such help, but at least I don't feel ashamed of it now. Back on my bed, I retract my mental projections and answer the nurse's questions about my fall. A few minutes later, there's a faint knock on the door. When it opens, I see the face of my new friend, visitting accompanied by her trusty white board and pack of dry markers.