Overcoming My Limits

At only the age of 11, Blythe Mitchell had been caught up in a terrible situation. One her family recalls as "The Accident." Her right leg was considered paralyzed and all the nerves had died, but Blythe had hope. One doctor she had consulted told her that in several years, she may just walk again.
Now, at the age of 17, Blythe is still wheelchair bound and even more curious about her "accident." It seems as if everyone but her knows what happened those many years ago. Her seemingly over-protective mother keeps silent and no one, not even her loyal maid, Macy Matthews, will tell her a thing. Which lead to another mystery. Why did the Matthews' go bankrupt after her accident? Did it have anything to do with her family?

Questions keep appearing. Can Blythe find the answers? Will she find her past, or will she finally understand the danger she's in?

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1. "The sun will set for you..." -the shadow of the day

It was a foggy memory. One that I don’t recall very well. I was screaming; screaming so harshly that my lungs began to hurt and I couldn’t find my voice. My leg pained me, as everything went black.

I woke up with a startle, sweat pouring from my face. I used my arms strength to position myself so I was propped against my headboard. I could feel nothing from my right leg. I was 17 years old now, it shouldn’t be a problem to move it. I concentrated on making it bend, but all it did was twitch. A tear fell from my eye. Curse my feeble limbs.

“Mum,” I called to her, “I need help.”

“Yes, Blythe, what is it?” she asked in her paranoid-mother voice as she stepped into my bedroom.

“I need to use the bathroom. Where’s my chair?” I searched around in the lowly lit quarters.

“I got it,” she rolled it over to my bedside. “Here, let me help you.” She reached her arms out to me.

“Mum, I’ve got it.” I slid into my wheelchair, moving towards my adjoining bathroom.

“Anything else, dear?”

“No, I’m fine.” I waved her off. Once she’d left the room, I rolled to my window. Drawing back my curtains, I stared out into the open land. The sun was just coming up. A tear fell down my cheek. I remember running out in that field; over the hills, and through the meadow. That is, before my accident.

I don’t remember a thing, no matter how hard I try. I’ve always been curious about the event that had damaged my right leg, rendering me useless. I don’t know how, but all the nerves in it had died. And for the past six years, it hasn’t been able to support me. My doctor told me it was paralyzed, but I can move it somewhat every so often. I asked mum about it once, but she says it was just some accident and that I’d broken my leg. She wouldn’t even tell me how. I asked a few other people, like my maid Macy Matthews, but she told me it was something my mother had to explain. Just then, Macy walked in the door. She had beautiful, curly brown hair and happy green eyes. Her skin was a light brown.

Sometimes it felt as if Macy was my mother, rather than my own. I loved Macy. She cared for me every day. At one point, in my early memory, Macy didn’t work for my family. In fact, she had been my neighbor. My family and I were what I guess you could call “aristocrats.” The Matthews’ were our neighbors. About the time of my accident, they had lost all their money and were forced to move. It tore me up a bit because their son was a close friend of mine. Now, to earn some money, she’s employed by my father. I’ve never thought any different of her, though.

“Good Morning, Ms. Mitchell—“

“I told you to call me Blythe. You don’t have to be formal around me, Macy.”

She gave me a warm smile, which I reciprocated. “So how has your morning been so far?” I asked her.

She shut the door behind her before huffing and rolling her eyes. I giggled as she walked over to my chair. She pushed back my bangs and looked my directly in the eyes.

“Your mother is driving me batty.”

I tried to suppress another laugh. One thing I also loved about Macy is that we had a bond. We could tell each other everything.

“She wants me here at four in the morning, and you don’t wake up until seven at least.”

“You’re joking.” I had suddenly become serious.

“I’m not! I don’t even get to see Brandon until I get home at eleven at night.”

“Oh,” I blushed, “how is Brandon?” One thing I couldn’t tell Macy was the severe crush I had on her son. We had been best friends way back when, but now I only see him occasionally. He was a year older than me. He had gorgeous, dark brown curls and his mother’s green eyes, though his were filled with mischief. I missed all of that; all the petty trouble we’d somehow get into. I smiled at the thought.

“I feel sorry for the boy. He’s doing well with his schooling, but I’m afraid he’s getting into the wrong crowds.” she ran a hand through her hair.

“Ah, I see…” I nodded slowly. I hadn’t seen him since Christmas several months ago. How handsome he had looked...

“He misses you, you know.” She spoke, interrupting my fawning.

“He—he does?” I stuttered.

“Mhmm,” she nodded. “He asks about you every now and then.”

“Can’t he visit?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want to burden your mother.” Macy wheeled me over to my wardrobe, letting me pick through my clothing. I knew what she meant: my mother wouldn’t approve. Macy and my mum had once been friends, but not since they went bankrupt. I shook my head in disgust. What a ridiculous reasoning.

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