Broken Mind

Aubrianne McCoy is an outcast, but when she gets in a car crash with her science teacher, Mr. Cartwright, she is all kids can talk about. But she faces more troubles besides her injuries. Will Bri break down, or will she face her troubles and move on?


6. Chapter 6

All of a sudden, I couldn't breath. It was as if I was pulled deep into water. I fell out of my wheelchair to the ground, struggling to function. I was shaking, my communication just a pile of babbling gravel.

Mr. Cartwright knelt down next to me, looking like he felt helpless. He grabbed a phone and dialed 911. He spoke to someone in the other line, telling them about what was going on and my medical past. He hung up the phone.

"Bri, you're going to be okay," he said as I was still struggling. "You're having a seizure. It's normal for people with a brain tumor to get one. There's an ambulance on it's way now."

I felt like I would never leave the hospital. Well, not really. This time was mainly because of stress and worry. But I felt that everytime I came back home, something would happen to me so I would have to go back. A life drainer, if you will.

Slowly, black ink was bleeding inward from every which way, causing my vision to fade out. The dream was practically déjà vu.


I was swinging on my porch swing outside of my house. I was a lot smaller, probably about six years old. I was working on my reading. I always worked outside. It was nice and quiet.

And there was a man. He was riding his bicycle down the road. I didn't know who the man was, but he looked familiar. Where have I seen him before? I asked myself. He was throwing papers to all of the houses. I didn't know him as the paper boy, though. I thought I saw him once around school.

He swerved on and off the road, and eventually crashed into our pitch pine tree. I heard a little yelp before, and a grunt after. Being the six year old I was, I ran over to the stranger. He had rough cuts on his arms and legs. He started to cough up blood.

I ran over to his side. "Are you okay?" I asked. He didn't respond. I asked again. And again. He did not answer. I checked his pulse. Nothing. I tried CPR (yes, I knew CPR when I was six), but it didn't work.

After about five minutes, I ran to get my parents. They ran to his side, like I did. They also tried CPR. It did not work for them either. I called 911, and soon they arrived. They put the defibrillator paddles on his chest and on his side, press a button and brought him back to life.

The man then pointed at me. " saved my life," he said. "You saved me." He said it over and over and over. I knew I did, and I was glad I could help him.

I rode with him to the hospital. I waited in the lobby until I could visit him. When I did, I asked him a question.

"Who are you?" I asked him.

"Who are you?" he asked back.

"I'm Aubrianne McCoy. Now, will you tell me?"

"I'm Aaron Cartwright. I'm the science teacher at the middle school here."

That's where I know him from! I thought. "If you're a teacher, then why were you delivering papers?"

"Well, when paychecks go down and you need money, you have to go to drastic measure. Sometimes, it may be delivering newspapers to 'Richy's Street' on Sunday mornings."

(Yeah, so my family was rich. So were our neighbors. At least my family left me with money to pay for chemo/radiation!)

I had assumed that the paycheck amount had went down because of the tight budget the school had for that year. I knew because my father was on the school board.

We talked for a while, and then the dream changed into another memory: the time I got shot.

I was hiking with my family during the summer between sixth and seventh grade. We went to the Trail View State Park. It was absolutely beautiful. The animals were extravagant, the plants were gorgeous, and the river beside the trail was marvelous. I wanted to stay there forever.

I knelt down to observe a primrose growing on the ground. It was magnificent. And then I felt a sharp pain on my side and I heard a loud BOOM! I fell over, and everything went black.


I was in a nice, comfortable bed. It had purple sheets and blankets, with purple floral pillows. There were bouquets and presents and checks all around the room. I was connected to machines, which was odd considering that I was in a house bedroom.

And then there was Mr. Cartwright, sitting next to me in a chair. Although this time, he appeared to be praying. This was weird to see, knowing that he wasn't at all religious. He looked up to me.

"I can see why you would try to..." He paused. He didn't want to say 'kill yourself', because he was sensitive about those topics. Why he was, I have no clue. "Your life is difficult, and I could not imagine what it's like to go through this tragedy."

I sat there, frozen. What? I thought. Why is he only now telling me this?

"Mr. Cartwright-" I started, but was interupted.

"Since the adoption is official, I want you to start calling me Dad."

"Um, okay. Dad, what happened? I can only assume you're telling me this because something has happened..."

"Well, you had a seizure from a ton of stress. You've been in a coma for a month and a half. And...Braydon."

"What happened to Braydon?"

"Well, remember when he went missing?"

I nodded.

"Well, we found him. He was found hiding in a shed at Cantiague Park. But, something happened to him. He has...changed."

"What do you mean by changed?" I asked him.

"He has gone...insane. He sat in the corner of the shed, rocking himself. When we approached him, he tried killing us. We don't know what has happened to him."

I was in total shock. I never thought this would happen to him, knowing that he was always happy. So loved, and so loving.

"He is now in a mental institute. I think it's called the Pilgrim Psychiatric Center. Only a 20 minute drive from here. We could go visit him and see how he's doing, if you'll like."

I shook my head. I did not want to see him like that: rocking, confused, helpless. Mr. Cartwright-oh, excuse me. Dad left the room, and I started to sob. I think he could hear me through the walls.

And then I saw a belt and a clothes hanger in my closet. I couldn't resist.

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