Stories

The Specialized Prison

by Sienna C., Age 12 , Grade 7, Lexington Montessori School, Lexington, MASSATCHUSETTS USA
Teacher: GM Hakim

The Specialized Prison
By:Sienna
 
It was a cool brisk autumn day, and Emily, Peter and I were skipping down the river bank to the old oak tree for our climbing competition. I don't usually mind climbing trees but the old oak is the worst. It has long frail branches, and are dry against my skin. It grows right next to the whitest, rockiest river in the world. A thick dark forest grows around the clearing where it stands. Emily never climbs since she's the oldest.
“Come on Maria, higher higher. You need to get to the top to beat Peter,” Emily yelled.
  I look down at her, “gulp”, I hate climbing the old oak tree, I look up and reach higher. The wind is so strong here, I cling to the tree, the rushing river below hisses at me and the world starts spinning, I feel so dizzy, then the world fogs over. It wasn’t long before I passed out.
That’s all I remember, according to Mum, Dad, Emily, and Peter and I fainted, fell from the tree into the rocky river. Now, I’m a quadriplegic. Nobody cares about me. I just lie in the attic eating scraps. Peter and Emily have told everyone at school that I’m dead. I have no friends The only connection to the outside world is through the little round window to my right at head height.
This week I will starve. My family is taking a trip to Paris and I’m staying home again. I sigh, trying to sleep but I can’t, the music blaring downstairs, and the lights flashing into the street are too much. When I finally do, I drift off into a cold nothingness full of trees, hospitals, rocks, and rivers, then crack.
I am awoken just before I hit the rocks. Always before I am trapped, stuck in an immobile body. I look out the window rain drizzling down the glass, as usual, rain or shine, the old lady with the dogs is walking Regina, Piper, and Tuby. At least that's what I call them. I can’t actually ask the lady their names. The only thing that is mildly interesting about this morning is the vroom vroom of our old minivan slipping out of our driveway toward the airport.
That afternoon, inspiration struck me like lightning. I had only just realized that I had just watched a little girl pop up out of her quadriplegic wheelchair and walk. My lungs and respiratory system started working like they never had before. Huffing and puffing, I slowly blew my sheet off, underneath there was a tangle of chains and tubes, straps and ropes that covered every inch of my body. On top of those there were auto cool ice packs, and small needles that were in me everywhere though they had stopped pumping the purple, red liquid into me. Its packet labeled ‘Medical Paralyzing Assistance ’. 
“Arrrgh” I yelled in fury trying to wriggle, but only my fingers and toes twitched. An idea popped into my head and I pointed my toes and started using my fingertips to push against the mattress. This was too slow. I started gnawing at the ropes, straps and tubes, that I could reach, snap. Shrugging my shoulders, I used my palms to escape the prison. The chais rubbed on me leaving red marks. The needles were the worst as they wiggled around like cold worms, scratching and burning my insides until “pop”. They left deep circular wounds.
It was well after dusk before I was free. I must’ve been covered head to toe with blood as I was so dizzy and cold. Blood was spattered across the floor. Groaning from the pain, I rolled over and peeked out the window, then collapsed into my bloody sleep.
After Four Days
The next morning, I jumped out of bed, dusting the crusty blood off me. I couldn’t believe that I could move. Why did they lie? Why did they keep me all those years? I could of gone on but the ache in my legs brought me back. I walked downstairs Into the kitchen opening the windows. Fresh air circuited the kitchen and I started scrounging through the pantry. I ate some toast and a muesli bar, I leaped into the shower washing off the excess blood and found some bandages in the medicine cabinet to cover some leftover wounds. I had healed surprisingly quickly.
“Swish swish” went the cloth in my hand. The blood from last night had seeped into our old attic floor boards. I finally gave up and started redecorating the attic.  Some of Emily's clothes, pillows, blankets, shelves, decorative vases, books, and my old bedsheets were perfect. My family gets back tonight.
After waiting out the day, I saw the headlights of my family's old minivan. It rumbled to a stop as I galloped downstairs, grabbing a knife from the kitchen. Silently, I locked the door. “Click” the door unlocked, “crrreeeak” It was opening now. I waited until I heard the last click and buzz, signaling that the door was locked and the lights were on, I yelled, throwing the knife at Emily's face, it missed but the tension in the air continued, even after Mum whispered, “ please don’t kill us Maria, it was for your own safety.” Before I could respond, there was a loud crash in the living room and when I walked in, there was a crazy person who stabbed me right through my stomach. It wasn't long before I was dead.
 

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