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Commissioned by someone who would prefer to remain anonymous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A flash of white. A shout. The screech of tires, then, bam. That was it. That was the last memory young Namilla had, before her eyes snapped open in the hospital room. As expected from there, there was confusion. She tried to move, but couldn't. Panic momentarily flooded her system, but she quickly realized that the anesthesia just hadn't worn off. Once it did, she'd be able to sit up, move around, and ask what happened. Or, so she'd believed at that time. Hours passed, doctors and nurses came and left her room constantly. They checked her eyes, spoke to her. Explained that she'd been in a car accident, and that she was badly hurt. They told her that her parents were in the waiting room, and that they would be allowed in to see her in a few hours.

That time eventually came. Her mother had her arm in a sling, having broken her arm. There were stitches above her eyebrow. Her father had band aids on his face, covering the dozens of tiny cuts the glass had dealt him when the window shattered. He didn't seem to have anything broken. Both of her parents were crying, looking at her as if they wanted to say something. Yet, they didn't. All they did was cry. Her mother extended an arm as if to touch her, but she never felt the contact. Eventually, a doctor ushered out Namilla's parents, then they gave her a dose of anesthesia to knock her out. She fell asleep with the belief that in a few months, she'd be up and ready to face the world again. Little did she know, that was far from the case...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six months had passed. Six, long, agonizing and depressing months. Lo and behold, thirteen year old Namillia had not recovered from the accident. She would never recover. The crash had paralyzed her from the neck down. She'd even lost her right leg from the knee down. She could not move. Could not speak. So much damage had been done to her throat, that her vocal chords were out of commission. She couldn't make a sound, yet alone speak. She was mute. She was unable to move, and unable to feel anything below her head. As one would expect, she was completely reliant on machines to stay alive. One kept her breathing, and another filtered her blood.

Granted, she was only hooked up to one machine at all times of day. The machine that helped her breathe. The other was hooked up to her three times a week, for five hour intervals so that her blood could be cleaned. There was also a tube connected to her stomach, which the doctors used for sake of feeding her. Since she couldn't swallow, that was the only method they could actually use. That was, the basic summary of her life since the accident. She could not talk. Could not enjoy food the way she once did. She could not play with friends, or take part in any of her old hobbies. She had been an athlete before she lost her mobility. Heck, the night of the crash, her team had won the big game.

She'd gone from an active, happy, playful girl. To a mute, motionless, shell of a being. In six months, she'd fallen into a state of depression so deep not even medication could make her feel more attached to life. How many nights she'd spent, staring at the wall and praying that her ventilator would break and shut down so she would suffocate. How many nights she'd hoped to be poisoned by her own blood and die. To have her motor chair malfunction and take her falling down the stairs to end it all. She couldn't count them. Nor could she count the number of ways she'd hoped death would take her. Some of them quick. Others, slow but sure to do her in.

Sadly, she wasn't exactly able to act on any of them. An accident a month or so ago had made it so that she was forbidden to work her chair without someone there to keep an eye on her. Granted, the incident had been no accident. That had been her breaking point. She'd purposely driven onto the freshly waxed floor, where there would be no hope for her stopping even if she tried. She lost control of her chair, and had closed her eyes to wait for the wall to hit her. That never happened though. An approaching nurse managed to catch her chair, and in the process her life had been saved. The nurse had sprained her ankle in the process though. So, her unwanted savior had been dealt decent punishment for intervening with her suicide.

That aside, since then she was unable to use the chair without someone keeping an eye on her. Doctors physically turned it off when she was left alone. In the end, it wasn't as if she could tell them off. The crash had left her unable to speak. She didn't know exactly why. The most she knew was that her vocal chords had been damaged. As an added blow from the universe to keep her mute, her paralysis made it impossible for her to work any machine capable of providing her a voice. She couldn't move her fingers to work a keyboard. Thanks to the halo and neck braces that kept her head in place, she couldn't even move her head to respond to simple yes or no questions.

As it was, the most she could do was blink in response to certain questions. At one point she had tried mouthing things to people to see if they could understand her, but that didn't work. Her neck brace became extremely uncomfortable when she opened her mouth. In a sense, it gave her the feeling of being choked. There was just, a very uncomfortable pressure around her neck, and it got worse as she opened her mouth. The same could be applied to her halo brace in a sense. Seeing as it was basically a tight ring of metal that wrapped around her head to keep it still. The ring was held in place by supporting metal rods connected to a metal chest plate.

Very uncomfortable, but only from the neck up. Paralysis meant she couldn't feel anything she couldn't move. So, at least she didn't have to deal with the discomfort her casts would cause if she was able to feel them. She was sure they'd itch like crazy. Still, the casts had a means of bothering her. Everything did. Not being able to do anything for herself was, humiliating. She could not move. Could not feed herself, or go to the bathroom by any conventional means. People had to help her to everything, and that was in a literal sense. If it had anything to do with moving, they had to do it for her. All she could do, was think. Being left to your own thoughts all the time while in a state such as hers, well.

That made it very difficult to cope with life.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

Commissioned by someone who would prefer to remain anonymous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A flash of white. A shout. The screech of tires, then, bam. That was it. That was the last memory young Namilla had, before her eyes snapped open in the hospital room. As expected from there, there was confusion. She tried to move, but couldn't. Panic momentarily flooded her system, but she quickly realized that the anesthesia just hadn't worn off. Once it did, she'd be able to sit up, move around, and ask what happened. Or, so she'd believed at that time. Hours passed, doctors and nurses came and left her room constantly. They checked her eyes, spoke to her. Explained that she'd been in a car accident, and that she was badly hurt. They told her that her parents were in the waiting room, and that they would be allowed in to see her in a few hours.

That time eventually came. Her mother had her arm in a sling, having broken her arm. There were stitches above her eyebrow. Her father had band aids on his face, covering the dozens of tiny cuts the glass had dealt him when the window shattered. He didn't seem to have anything broken. Both of her parents were crying, looking at her as if they wanted to say something. Yet, they didn't. All they did was cry. Her mother extended an arm as if to touch her, but she never felt the contact. Eventually, a doctor ushered out Namilla's parents, then they gave her a dose of anesthesia to knock her out. She fell asleep with the belief that in a few months, she'd be up and ready to face the world again. Little did she know, that was far from the case...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Six months had passed. Six, long, agonizing and depressing months. Lo and behold, thirteen year old Namillia had not recovered from the accident. She would never recover. The crash had paralyzed her from the neck down. She'd even lost her right leg from the knee down. She could not move. Could not speak. So much damage had been done to her throat, that her vocal chords were out of commission. She couldn't make a sound, yet alone speak. She was mute. She was unable to move, and unable to feel anything below her head. As one would expect, she was completely reliant on machines to stay alive. One kept her breathing, and another filtered her blood.

Granted, she was only hooked up to one machine at all times of day. The machine that helped her breathe. The other was hooked up to her three times a week, for five hour intervals so that her blood could be cleaned. There was also a tube connected to her stomach, which the doctors used for sake of feeding her. Since she couldn't swallow, that was the only method they could actually use. That was, the basic summary of her life since the accident. She could not talk. Could not enjoy food the way she once did. She could not play with friends, or take part in any of her old hobbies. She had been an athlete before she lost her mobility. Heck, the night of the crash, her team had won the big game.

She'd gone from an active, happy, playful girl. To a mute, motionless, shell of a being. In six months, she'd fallen into a state of depression so deep not even medication could make her feel more attached to life. How many nights she'd spent, staring at the wall and praying that her ventilator would break and shut down so she would suffocate. How many nights she'd hoped to be poisoned by her own blood and die. To have her motor chair malfunction and take her falling down the stairs to end it all. She couldn't count them. Nor could she count the number of ways she'd hoped death would take her. Some of them quick. Others, slow but sure to do her in.

Sadly, she wasn't exactly able to act on any of them. An accident a month or so ago had made it so that she was forbidden to work her chair without someone there to keep an eye on her. Granted, the incident had been no accident. That had been her breaking point. She'd purposely driven onto the freshly waxed floor, where there would be no hope for her stopping even if she tried. She lost control of her chair, and had closed her eyes to wait for the wall to hit her. That never happened though. An approaching nurse managed to catch her chair, and in the process her life had been saved. The nurse had sprained her ankle in the process though. So, her unwanted savior had been dealt decent punishment for intervening with her suicide.

That aside, since then she was unable to use the chair without someone keeping an eye on her. Doctors physically turned it off when she was left alone. In the end, it wasn't as if she could tell them off. The crash had left her unable to speak. She didn't know exactly why. The most she knew was that her vocal chords had been damaged. As an added blow from the universe to keep her mute, her paralysis made it impossible for her to work any machine capable of providing her a voice. She couldn't move her fingers to work a keyboard. Thanks to the halo and neck braces that kept her head in place, she couldn't even move her head to respond to simple yes or no questions.

As it was, the most she could do was blink in response to certain questions. At one point she had tried mouthing things to people to see if they could understand her, but that didn't work. Her neck brace became extremely uncomfortable when she opened her mouth. In a sense, it gave her the feeling of being choked. There was just, a very uncomfortable pressure around her neck, and it got worse as she opened her mouth. The same could be applied to her halo brace in a sense. Seeing as it was basically a tight ring of metal that wrapped around her head to keep it still. The ring was held in place by supporting metal rods connected to a metal chest plate.

Very uncomfortable, but only from the neck up. Paralysis meant she couldn't feel anything she couldn't move. So, at least she didn't have to deal with the discomfort her casts would cause if she was able to feel them. She was sure they'd itch like crazy. Still, the casts had a means of bothering her. Everything did. Not being able to do anything for herself was, humiliating. She could not move. Could not feed herself, or go to the bathroom by any conventional means. People had to help her to everything, and that was in a literal sense. If it had anything to do with moving, they had to do it for her. All she could do, was think. Being left to your own thoughts all the time while in a state such as hers, well.

That made it very difficult to cope with life.