Carpet. Thick pile. Both feet now. She struggles to stand.
The crash has stolen months. Time, hope, lives, taken so fast. It’s her first
time, upright and alone. She can’t, mustn’t, remember what alone feels like. Medics, family, carers, she’s been surrounded by unwanted company. Just one
misjudgment broke her body and too much more. The blue flashing light marked
her, alone, as the sole survivor. She stands and her blood pools too low, too
far, to sustain. Her body folds, takes her to her knees, drops her on the
floor. This wreckage from which she feels she should never have been allowed to
rise. She lies and waits, waits to be alone no longer, waits to be no longer.
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