Campfire Story

If All Else Fails - Drama
--This story is open for another 67 entries
--This story is open
Oct 06, 2008 12:00 PM Introduction
G_Money started with:
Ben sat for an hour looking quizzically at the mirror. It just didn't look right. A man should stand tall and proud...not sit on a wheeled throne. He tried to get used to the sight...he was going to have to. The accident that took his legs was never going to give them back. At twenty-one he was presumably have a long time to live with it. The limbs were right under him of course but useless as two dead weights. Everyone said he was lucky to have his legs at all but maybe if he had lost them he could walk on prosthetics...something...anything..Just not this.
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Oct 06, 2008 10:58 PM Entry #1
His hour listlessly became two. The four walls of this room seeped with regret and despair. Somewhere outside these walls, outside this prison lived the hope, the opportunity for something other than this sad excuse for life. He would not sit here for twenty one years wishing he had the first twenty one back. He would find his opportunity to stand, figuratively or otherwise... or else.
Oct 14, 2008 10:34 PM Entry #2
lindsay wrote:
Ben pulled himself up high in his wheel-chair, pushed his hair out of his face and forced a smile. He tried to hold the fake smile on his face as long as he could but it started to hurt, almost as much as the phantom pain he suffered from each day. His cheeks dropped back to neutral. What a mistake he made.
Feb 03, 2009 05:33 AM Entry #4
Moonrose wrote:
He awoke slowly, blurred and confused. His mind was a dull throb at first, pulsing slowly with his beaten heart. What was this? So strange, so cold... he shivered slightly, his eyelids twitching as he groaned. The sound seemed almost natural to him now, a piece of him, he had groaned so much over the last few days. Wait. A thought occurred to him. Shouldn't this all be over? He had ended it, of that he was certain. He couldn't have survived that truck, he had already proved to himself he wasn't a superman of any sort. Those whispers shouldn't be floating around him, he shouldn't feel that cold, that... broken. No, not broken... more, pieced together, like bits of him had been sown to each other. Was he really dead?
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