The Room

I opened my eyes to only want to close them again. The obscenely bright lights burn me as I try to reopen my eyes. As I do, white blank walls stare back at me. Confused, I hear a rhythmic beeping. As I turn my head, I see a heart rate machine measuring the signs of my life. I hear a door opening and listen, still confused, as a doctor comes in and says

"Good, you're awake."

Suddenly, I remember everything. Driving down the road the night before, not doing anything wrong. Seeing the headlights coming straight for me and not being able to avoid them. The horrible screeching and crunching of metal meeting metal, and bones getting caught in between. I zone back into my reality, hearing the doctor say that I'll never walk again. It's truly amazing how in one second, you realize that life as you know it is over. Now, my life will be split into two parts: before the accident and after the accident. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's persevere. I will not let my injury rule my life. So what, I'll be in a wheelchair until the day I die? No problem. Considering what other people go through on a daily basis, this is nothing.

That is, until the pain medication wears off.