This is a monologue I wrote about a girl in a wheelchair. It's not based on personal experience, so it might not be perfectly accurate, but I like it. Like "Tears For Lucas", Fictionpress messed up the editing. So every time you see a page break, just imagine it's a new paragraph. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

I was the girl in the pictures, the one on all the teams.

I was the fastest, the best.

I was prideful,

Stupid,

Wrong.

Why did I think I could run faster than a car could drive?

Always look left before you look right.

You don't want to end up like me.

I know what you're thinking:

Oh, that poor girl…

What will she do now?

…Well, it could never happen to me.

Only you're wrong. Because it could.

You could be blinded by the sun and not see the car coming.

You could be frozen in the middle of the road, engulfed in a sharp, cold fear.

You could be crushed, mangled, destroyed.

You could end up with wheels where your legs should be.

Or you could be on the other side, shaking with horror, wondering what just happened.

Wondering what you've done.

You could feel responsible for ruining someone's future.

And he did. That man took away all my chances. My years of training,

Of friendships,

Of carefree weekend movies.

Wrecked.

Maybe I sound like a bad infomercial. Maybe I am one. But this is the truth.

My friends don't know what to do with me.

They seem to think that I'm a different person because I can't wear shorts anymore.

Because I have a special parking space that no one wants to be entitled to.

They don't understand. I don't expect them to, but I thought they would try.

They don't.

They're scared.

They stay away.

I want to scream at them:

I'm not contagious!

You'll still be able to walk if we get ice cream and read a trashy magazine.

If you visit me at my house, you'll still be able to run at track practice the next day!

I know it's not their fault, that they're just confused.

But I'm more than that.

I'm lost.

I'm broken.

I wish they could just ignore the chair somehow, instead of pitying me.

I don't need their pity,

I don't need them to tiptoe past me.

What I need is for them to realize

That I'm not a bomb.

I'm not a curse.

I'm not a stranger,

I'm the same girl.

Why is that so hard to see?