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?


18. "i need some sleep" -eels

I was empty… abysmal. There was nothing left of me. I couldn’t hurt; I couldn’t feel. I knew the days were passing by, but I didn’t know how many. Everything seemed to just blur together, into one enormous mess.

Am I even alive anymore? It sure doesn’t feel like it. After all, I’m not living. I’m just surviving.

What am I doing? Where do I go from here? Can I even leave? Can I even get away?

What am I going to do? I ask myself, a tear runs down my cheek.  

“Give me a sign!” I yell to my ceiling. “Give me reason to live!”

I lay there, sobbing silently, waiting for some sort of divine signal… but none came.

And for some reason, that didn’t surprise me. Who was I to deserve a blessing? There are people who need more than I do. There are people desperately wanting life.

Well… I guess they can have mine.



 I wasn’t going to write a goodbye letter. I’d rather have their imaginations play on the grief. My hands shook uncontrollably as I pulled the blue liquid out from under my sink. I placed the bottle on my counter next to me. I struggled to unscrew the cap, but my palms were too sweaty to grip it.

“Dammit!” I yelled at myself, “I can’t even do this right!”

I threw the bottle to the ground with a scream of frustration. I held my head in my hands, pulling at my hair. I looked back to the floor to see that the lid had been broken off in my rage.

The fumes of the chemicals stirred my senses and made my eyes burn. I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

This is it. There’s no other way. This is the last thing I’ll ever do. Will it be fast? Will it hurt for long? As long as it works…

I sipped the liquid, the taste bitter in my mouth, so I took bigger gulps. Streams of it ran down my face and integrated with my tears. My throat burned and I was beginning to lose vision in my left eye. Satisfied, I pushed the bottle away.

Minutes later, symptoms were already setting in. I could tell that I was feverish, cold sweat beading on my forehead. My chest ached so much that I had to take short, labored breaths. My head felt so light with dizziness that I had to lean against the sink cabinets. How long until I die…?

“Ugh,” I wrapped my arms around my stomach, “ahh!” I grunted and yelled at the pain twisting and writhing inside of me. I scratched at my skin, leaving raised, red marks. I was about to scream again when I felt sour bile rising in my throat. I crawled over to the toilet, dry heaving for several minutes. When I decided that I wouldn’t throw up,  turned away  from the toilet. Just then, it all came out of me. I had to close my eyes from all of the increasing pain, but opening my eyes horrified me.

“Is this…blood?” I stared at the red mess on the floor. It smelled of copper and iron as it spread across the linoleum floor. I dipped my fingers in it, watching it slowly run down my hand. Suddenly, I felt my throat closing up and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. I coughed and coughed, more blood spraying from my lips. I fell to the floor, squirming for some bit of air.

But wait…this is what I wanted, wasn’t it?

My head fell limp to the side, and the only view I had from my right eye was of my arm. I looked at my hand, my fingertips an unusual shade of blue. I tried to lift a finger, but it’s as if my mind was disconnected from everything else. I felt my eyes flutter shut. Finally, I was numb with pain. And the last thing I ever thought to myself was:

Hey, I like that shade of blue.

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