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?


13. "i just wanna run" -the downtown fiction

It felt like forever since I’ve seen the sun. I was trapped; they wouldn’t let me go. They locked me away in my room, only visiting to leave me food or the occasional check-up to make sure I haven’t killed myself. It was like some cliché princess story, except my prince wasn’t coming to save me. I couldn’t save myself.

Several days ago, I tried to run out the door when my mother brought me my lunch, but my father caught me and hauled me back into my room. He didn’t speak me much anymore, or anyone for that matter. He held me to the mattress as my mother restrained me, tying me to the four corners of my bed. I pulled and tugged but the result ended in me having bruised wrists. After that failure, I didn’t object to my cruel treatment. I wouldn’t say I coped with it, but I had adapted slightly. I didn’t run, I didn’t move, I didn’t care. The case was hopeless.


One particular afternoon, my mother crept into my bed chambers.

“Blythe?” she asked. I didn’t respond. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

I rolled my eyes at this idiotic question. As I was about to speak some witty retort, I stopped myself. It wouldn’t help my current situation.

“Yes,” I replied, “I’m okay.”

“Good, I was hoping I could let you out today.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. I was not some sick animal that she could ‘let out’ when she feels like. Thought she may have me tied up, I was a person. A human.

“Do you want out or not?” she grew impatient.

“What’s your definition of ‘out?’” I questioned.

“Out of this room. It’s been about a month, so I’d figured you’d like some more space.”

“A month?!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I was hoping I could’ve let you out sooner but you have that spark of disobedience that seems to control you.” She shook her head, ashamed of my ‘disgusting habit’ as she liked to refer to it.

“Well, I am feeling a little hungry. Can I be released now?” I asked her. She turned her attention back to me, nodded, then proceeded to untie my restraints. Even after they were off, I couldn’t seem to move. It was as if my limbs had turned to mush. Mum brought over my wheelchair and helped me into it. My arms were still wobbly, so she pushed me all the way to the dining room.

“Anything in specific you would like to nibble on?” she began moving for the kitchen door.

“A PB&J?”

“Okay, I won’t be long.”

She walked into the kitchen. I listened carefully, hearing her fumble around with the jars and silverware. Macy always prepared the food…

No, I thought to myself. Thinking of Macy makes you think of Brandon. And Brandon reminds you of love, and love reminds you of heartbreak. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calm myself, but even the simple gesture reminded me of them. They were such an impact on my life, more recently than ever.

“Here you go.” Mother delicately set the platter on the table. The sandwich, however, was sloppily put together in a haste. I guess I should start making my own meals.

“Thank you.” I spoke quietly before taking a bite. It wasn’t exemplary, but it was adequate. I finished it off in several bites. What to do now?

“I think I should inform you that all doors and windows are locked, so it wouldn’t be wise to try to leave.” Mother spoke.

“To be honest, the thought hadn’t occurred to me.” I raised my eye brows.

“Oh, well, I have to run to the market. See you at dinner.” She blushed, walking away.


I sat alone at the dinner table. This wasn’t how I had pictured my life to be; locked up without any genial contact with the outside world. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. At least now I can roam the house.

I started with the ballroom. The intensity of the sunlight blinded me at first. My eyes needed to adjust after being held captive in a dark room for so long. I opened my eyes again, seeing first, the blueness of the sky. It was wide and open, something I had never treasured so much before. I touched the glass of the window pane, wishing I could phase through it. After taking one long, last look, I wheeled away.

I had just rolled into the main foyer when the phone let out a shrill ring. It rang twice more, but no one seemed to answer it. I’d never answered the phone before, as strange as it may seem. It rang again, so I picked it up.

“Hello?” I spoke warily into the receiver.

“Mrs. Mitchell?” the other line asked uncertainly. That voice…why did it sound so familiar?

“Brandon? Is that you?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes, uhm…is this Claire?” That last statement confused me. For as long as I’ve known him, he’s never addressed my mum be her first name.

“No,” I stated, “it’s me, Blythe.”

“Blythe? Oh, uh…hi,” he said, no excitement whatsoever. We were both silent; it ate away at me that I had him on the line yet I had nothing to say.

“Is your mom home?” he finally spoke.

“Huh? Yes, she’s about to leave for groceries.”

“Oh, well, never mind then, bye.”

“Wait,” I called through the phone.

“Yeah?” he answered quietly.

“It was good to hear from you. I know it’s been awhile, and I’ve just been really worried about you.” I lowered my voice.

“I’ve been okay. Things have been a little tight around here since we all lost our jobs.”

I gulped down my guilt. “I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be,” he snapped off the end of my sentence, “it’s not a big deal.”

Another awkward silence.

“I…I-still love you.” I whispered.

“I lov—“ he stopped himself, “Sorry, Blythe, I’ve gotta go.”

My breath hitched in my throat. Three simple words didn’t take that much time to be said.

“Okay,” I managed to squeak, “Bye.” I quietly hung up the telephone. Brandon…he didn’t love me anymore.

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