Inspired by J.R. Watson
Your protagonist returns to regular life after being in hospital for months.
Think about what this character might struggle with, or how their perspectived and priorities might have changed.
I waved goodbye to the hospital bed as if it were a person. Well, I had called it “home” for seven months now as I healed from the fall. Walking away, out of that room, felt surreal, as if I didn’t know what was waiting for me on the other side of the doors - the doors to the room and the doors leading to the world - although I had of course been outside before. Just not in seven months. The room ...
The moment I stood up, I vomited and collapsed onto the floor. The nurses huddled around me with concerned looks on their faces, asking if I was okay. I wasn't, but I said I was, and was assisted back to my bed. I would need to use a wheelchair for the foreseeable future, the nurses had said. But I wanted to walk. Of course I did, any sane person would. And my legs still worked, it just hurt like ...
I tell myself I’m grateful for the life I have, regardless of my circumstances. The major attachment issues, the crippling anxiety, gosh even the constant isolating feeling that poisons my heart more and more as the days grow longer.
I am grateful, but at what cost?
The unfairness that justifies itself as the bare minimum. The lack of empathy normalised behind the words “at least…”.
“Elaina!” a voice snaps.
Elaina flinches and drops the lighter she has been twirling between her fingers. She’s been toying with the idea of using it again but she hides it in her dresser as her father barges in.
‘P i c t u r e, p i c t u r e S m i l e f o r t h e p i c t u r e’
Her father looks her over with a look of utter disdain.
“The press is here. Put a smile on that filthy f...
stop asking me if I’m alright
stop staring at me like an exotic animal
stop whispering to your friends
don’t question if I’m acting weird
don’t pretend to care about me
don’t offer to carry around my stuff
no, I don’t have a headache
no, I don’t need to go home early
no, I can walk by myself
I’m not a fragile toy that’s broken
I’m not shattered from the inside
I don’t need y...
(Um, this is something I’m considering writing about for an assignment, and I was wondering, if anyone sees it, if they could give their feedback on what I have so far. I would really appreciate that. I know I suck at describing setting, but any advice at all would be helpful).
(This is the first draft).
Sarah sighed with contempt as she heard her parent’s car door shut. Repositioning her crut...
Mama always says it would be okay.
That when I’m let out of the hospital,
It will all be same.
My name is Amber chickberry.
I’m 16 years old.
I broke my Collarbone about two years ago.
And my leg,
And my arm,
And my nose,
And my small tailbone.
So I had to stay,
in the hospital.
A year and a half now.
And I’m finally being let out,
For the world to see.
And I’m scared,
I must say.
TW EATING DISORDERS
They’ll never know the
nightmares I had every night
of a feeding tube being
shoved down my throat.
They’ll never know the
look on my mom’s face
when the nurse who was
trying to draw my blood
said that she couldn’t find my veins
and that I should probably have
some water or juice.
Probably juice because that has
carbs and glucose.
They’ll never know the restles...
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