Martin lay there. He just lay there. Morphine did a funny thing to your will to move. It made him just want to sit there. He tried to distract himself a little though from what was… missing. Well, plenty was missing. Get well soon cards; his family; the crew of MJN; but, most upsetting of all, his leg. His leg was gone.
His van was too old. It didn't have the modern safety features that all vehicles had now-a-days. It crumpled as it was struck by an on-coming lorry that had run a red light. The accident wasn't his fault and he had come off the worse of the two drivers involved. Why was it always him?! The van crumpled and crushed his lower leg, tearing it to chunks and breaking the bones beyond repair; thanks to the lack of calcium in his diet, his bones were brittle anyway. He had no lower leg now.
His thigh was still there, he had his knee in tact (if not covered in sutures and raw); it was his lower leg that was amputated. He'd need a prosthetic, it wasn't like he could go without; a wheelchair would be too obvious. He didn't need their pity. It wasn't like he deserved it anyway; it was a car crash, he wasn't some brave war veteran or something. No, it would be a secret.
He stared at the doorway; he thought he'd heard knocking. His mind was just a bit… pleasantly foggy to properly focus on surroundings. A burly man stood there. "Looks like you got the luxury of a private room, then…" the man stated, attempting to appear light hearted but just looked guilty. It was the idiot lorry driver who'd crashed into him.
"Looks like," was all Martin's drugged mind came up with.
"I'm really sorry, mate," the man apologised, "I was being impatient and stupid and –" he stopped dead. He took a good look at Martin. "Oh God, you're a kid!" he rubbed a bandaged hand over the stubble on his cheek.
"Thirty five is hardly a kid…" Martin rasped.
"I'm really, really sorry! I didn't think there was anything coming and –"
"Will apologies bring my leg back?" Martin asked sourly. It really wasn't a fair remark, but his situation wasn't fair either.
"Your leg?" The man was not aware until his eyes rested on the small mound that was Martin's remaining foot and the empty space next to it.
"It had to be amputated," Martin stated plainly, the drugs in his system numbed him so he wasn't particularly sad. He just missed his leg.
"Oh God," the man choked.
Martin couldn't help but feel a little guilty, but the Morphine certainly took the edge off.
...
Hey guys! I really do torture my favourite pilot; mind, I always torture the characters I love.
Please leave a review.