My eyes flashed over the stairs, the proud picture stabbing a wound into my heart. My mind registered the words as I tried to avoid remembering. I failed. Tears pricked my eyes as I blinked away the painful memory of the accident. It was all a blur, everything happening so quickly. All I saw was the light, the intensity like nothing I had ever seen before. My vision blurred as I forced my eyes open, white walls, white sheets, white monitors beeping around me. My mother cried out as she watched my arm twitch, rubbing her drowsy eyes, the restraint of it all overwhelming. I knew nothing, remembered nothing. Only later did I learn that it was the alcohol, the dizziness controlling his every muscle. He swerved too early, missed the light, charging on forwards, music blaring, completely unaware of his surroundings. He left soon after the crash, too soon after in fact. I never saw him. And now, here I was, eight months later, scars snaking their way up my every body part, secret wounds hiding under bits of old clothing. I wheeled up to the stairs, sighing deeply, avoiding eye contact as I felt stares seep through me. Businessmen, young teenagers, naive mothers, chatting away furiously until they reached the bottom of the unbearably steep stairs, conversations dying away, along with every last bit of hope I had in me. They looked, they judged, and yet they really knew nothing. Nothing about me, nothing about my life. I held my breath, terrified to let it out, knowing that countless tears would flow out with it. Nothing had been the same since the accident. Nothing would be the same ever again.
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