'Wreckage' by Sheila Scott

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.