Your POV:

Eyes open and alert, you lay under the soft purple sheets. Your lids had refused to grow heavy, the lure of sleep refused to tug at your consciousness. All night you had lain awake, and with no better option to occupy your time, you let your mind wander. The main question nagging at you from the back of your head was the one question you tried to avoid most of all, the one question that you knew you didn't have an answer to. Or, at least, not an answer you liked. But with hours ahead of you looking unbearable and absolutely nothing to set your mind to, it seemed the only logical thing was to brood over the unsettling matter until you either became so bored you put yourself to sleep or until the bell rang signaling it was time to start the day's activities. So you let the question come forward: what now? Of course there was always the option of doing nothing; sitting back and living the easy life that was so happily given to you by the staff at the hospital. But you did have your pride to think of. Also, spending the long years ahead stuck to a strict schedule, depending entirely on others, and practically having your meals fed to you didn't sound like the most appealing way to grow old. Still, what else was there to do? You had been taken out of high school early in order to travel to the many hospitals, none of which had done you any good, and had never even applied to a college. Plus, with your disability, physical labor was out of the question. So, what else was there to do? Suddenly tears began to flow from your dark brown and usually emotionless eyes. "I want my life back," you whispered to the darkness. "Give it back to me." There was no reply except the slow, steady ticking of the clock on your nightstand. The memory of the moment- the moment that had stolen your life from you along with any hope that had kept you going- began to push it's way into your thoughts. You fought it. It was the one thing above all  else that you didn't want to think about. But with a bored mind that gains a will of it's own when it wants something, the memory forced itself to the front of your thoughts.

*   *   *

You had to look up from your feet, planted solidly on the ground, every five minutes and every time it seemed as if the white walls had come a few inches closer than the last time you checked. Your breath continually caught in your throat and you gripped the bottom of the bench on which you sat. 'This is it,' you said to yourself over and over. 'This is it.' A shriek came from the room on the other side of the single white door. Your mom. Whether it was a shriek of joy or horror was unclear. Then sobs came, audible even through the thick walls and tightly sealed entryway. They were not tears of joy. Your mom never cried of happiness. Your heart didn't sink or come up in your throat; it disappeared. All you were left with was a hole in your chest that threatened to swallow your very existence and a sickening feeling that forced you to lean your back against the wall to keep from falling over. "It's all a dream, just a nightmare," you tried to reassure yourself. "Or maybe my mom just got so emotional that for the first time she cried because of something good," you tried to control your rapidly quickening heart beat by calming yourself, but to no avail. The door opened, your mom ran in and hugged you still crying uncontrollably, the nurse gave you a sad look. In her hand there was an x-ray showing two legs and a spinal cord and written across the top was "____________". There was a red circle drawn around the middle of the spinal cord and a big x across it. You -out.

*   *   *

The memory sent chills up and down your spine, or at least the upper portion of it.

The bell that sounded every morning at exactly eight o'clock interrupted you from your thoughts. Finally. You propped yourself up on your elbows and used your abdomen muscles which, after the constant use, had begun to define themselves through your velvety pale skin. Luckily, the problem, though no one knows quite what the problem is, occurred near the base of your spinal cord allowing you full range of motion in your waist. A nurse, in her clean white uniform and smile that seemed plastered in place, flung the door open and switched on the lights. "Rise and shine!" she said in a giddy tone that irritated you. "Lets get you dressed, shall we?"

"No." Your answer caught her off guard. This nurse was probably new and had never had the "pleasure" of spending the morning with you before. "I'll do it myself if you could just get my wheelchair." She seemed confused but obliged, fetching your chair from the corner of the room and unfolding it in front of your bed. She was about to ask if you were sure you didn't need assistance but you cut her off, "Yes, I'm sure I can do this on my own." With that she left, seeming slightly offened. You pulled yourself up to a sitting position and put your weight behind you on your hands for support. The process of getting dressed each morning without aid was long and difficult, but you refused the countless offers of help. Like you said before, you still had your pride. You refused to be entirely dependent on anyone. You half threw, half launched yourself into your wheelchair and quickly wheeled over to your closet. You plucked out the first thing you saw, not truly caring what your outfit looked like. This was one of the habits that the nurses had labeled as "odd". Some others where your disinterest in shopping, your missing embarrassment about your handicap, and, most of all, your lack of interest in the "gods" also known as kpop boy bands. Sure, you were still a teenage girl (though that would end in a few months), but your disability had stripped you of the need for silly methods of entertainment such as those. You had spent most of your high school career either in a hospital bed or in a car or airplane being transported to your next hospital bed. No time for shopping. No time for embarrassment. No time for fangirling.

At last, you completed your task of dressing yourself as the bell rang the second time signaling breakfast. You hopped into the wheelchair and waited; the hospital forced all patients to be escorted to meals by a nurse or doctor. No one came. You waited. Still no one. You wheel yourself over to the door to check on the situation outside, but a knock sounded just before you opened it. "Miss _______, you have a visitor," the nurse squeaked through the door. She seemed awfully excited. What had gotten into her? "You can come in," you shouted curious at who the unexpected visitor might be. The door opened and you shielded your eyes from the unexpected glint as the bright light reflected off bleach blonde hair and pearly white teeth.