The Short Story

Just over 10 years ago I started studying Creative Writing and English Literature at Aberystwyth University. The place and people were wonderful, the course was pretty disappointing. Here's the story I submitted for my first marked assignment on 10th November 2003.


The Short Story

Abbott put his arm around me, he kissed me on the forehead and kept his hand on my shoulder looking out at the road ahead.  We'd been traveling for about five days now, I didn't know where we were going really, but Abbott seemed to.  I looked at him as he drove, all around us was deserted and the sun sat right behind.  I leant over and nestled my head on his side.
    At that moment I felt my father's hand on my shoulder, prodding me.  Daddy didn't like it when we got cosy together in the car, I just liked having time with Abbott and sometimes forgot that my Daddy was even there, he always made sure he reminded me about it though.

My father had raised me by himself for about nine years now, since I was six.  He was very protective of me, always lecturing me about being a good girl, coming home on time and he wasn't fond of Abbott to tell you all the truth.
    I met Abbott after school, he used to be sitting on the fence by the field with the long grass with his friends.  I'd smile at him as I walked by, and soon he was smiling back.  One day he jumped down off the fence and asked if he could walk with me.
    “I'm not sure if my Daddy would like that.”  I grinned.
    “Fine,” Abbott nodded respectfully, and then he winked and said, “I won't walk with ya' all the way then.”  He walked alongside me, and I could barely speak, couldn't do nothing but smile.  “What's your name then?”  He asked looking down at me with his blue eyes, I remember how blue they were so well.
    “Tess.” I said.
    “My name's Abbott.” He stopped and held his hand out to me, I'd never had a boy offer to shake hands with me before and I couldn't help but laugh.  “Well, are you gonna shake my hand or aren't ya'?”

The car pulled up to the side of the road, the dirty ground crunching under the wheels.  Abbott leant on the door and looked up and down the long empty strip.  Then off we went again, this time the car began out over the ground leaving the road behind us.  I looked at Abbott like he'd gone and lost his mind, but soon we came to this little secluded place with trees and large dusty rocks.
    “We're stopping here tonight.”  He said getting out of the car and pulling his leather jacket off the back seat, “You wanna help me?”
    “Do what?”  I asked.
    “Get a fire going or something.” He exclaimed as if it was perfectly obvious to everyone but me.  “I'm going for a piss, try and see if you can find some firewood or something.”
    I went over to one of the trees and began shaking at its trunk, but it barely made a move, though I'll be honest with you I'm not exactly the toughest person in the world.  I leant back on the bonnet of the car and looked up at the tree, a wind blew through the leaves and my hair, it span dust up as if it were alive.
    “You look pretty with your hair down.” My father said from the backseat of the car, “Your mother always said you'd grow up beautiful.  You're starting to look a lot more like her, everyday it seems.”

Daddy didn't like Abbott, and he made no bones about keeping it under his hat.  First time he met him was about a week after he started walking me home, Daddy was sat on the front porch smoking his pipe and he saw me talking down by the road.  Abbott was practically begging me to go to the old barn down by the lake that night, some friends of his were having some kinda party, said they were starting a band.
    “I'll think about it.” I grinned tugging my bag back up onto my shoulder, I started to walk up towards the house with Abbott nodding and smiling.
    “I'll think about you!” He laughed pointing playfully at me, and winking.
    I could tell my Daddy was mad the second I could see his face clearly, but to be honest with you I didn't know why.  He had his hands on his hips and the pipe drooping sadly from his mouth, I looked up at him and plain as day he swore,  “God damn you Tess, what are you playing at?  Get inside the house.”
    Our house was one of the nicest one's around for miles, I always loved that place despite whatever happened inside those four walls.  Though I would've changed a few things about it, that's for sure.  My father and his father were proud hunters, and they had heads of all kinds of animals up over the fireplace and the like, deers and boars, they went traveling for weeks finding stuff to kill.
    Daddy sat me down at the dinner table, he turned a lamp on as it was getting pretty dark early now in the Autumn.  Daddy told me to put my hands on the table, about shoulder width apart and he struck the backs of them hard with his hand, it hurt but I didn't say nothing.
    “What are you playing at?”  He asked again sitting so upright I thought he'd locked his back again, I didn't say anything because I had nothing to say.  He rolled his eyes and looked round the house, “If your mother could see you now?  Holy Jesus, I don't know what she'd say.  She'd set you straight, that's what she'd do.  Tell you how blind you're being, how foolish!”  He took my hands in his and stared me straight in the eyes, “Now you listen to me, cause I'm telling you now not to see that fella...”
    “But, Daddy...” I began.
    “Lord have mercy!”  My father interrupted, “Aren't you listening?  Don't you hear me?  I'm commanding you my girl, my daughter.  I didn't raise no commandment breaker now did I?  You love your Daddy now don't you?  Now, say your prayers and I'll start dinner tonight, but it's to bed early today, you hear?”  He paused, “Tell me now, do you hear?”
    “Yes Daddy.” I answered.

Later that evening, it was about eight o'clock I reckon, I could hear this sound at my window and when I looked up there was Abbott stood outside, I didn't realise who it was at first and almost jumped out of my own skin.  Quietly I crept over to the window, slid open the pane and stuck my head outside.
    “What do you want?”  I asked in a whisper.
    “Come on, I came to take you to the barn, I figured that a lady shouldn't walk alone.”  Abbott said starting off into the dark almost immediately.
    “Well hold up!”  I called with bated breath, “I'm wearing my nightgown, I gotta get changed!”
    Abbott threw his hands up and stamped a foot, “I told you we was going to the barn!”
    “I'm sorry, b-but my Daddy, he - he said...” I could hardly speak now, and Abbott could see that he'd been a little rash so he came up and put a hand on my cheek.
    “Hey there, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at ya'.  I didn't realise.  Don't be upset now.”  Abbott's hand was so warm despite the cold Autumn air at night, and I practically nuzzled against it.  “Come on now,” he continued, “Get some clothes and shoes, stick a pillow under the bedsheets, you can wear my jacket if you want, it's real leather.”

“What are you thinking?”  My father asked me as I pulled a blanket up over me in the front seat of the car.
    “I was wondering why you used to hit me so much?”  I said bitterly trying to find some warmth, it was winter even in the desert!
    “You can be stubborn sometimes, you get that too from you mother.”
    I began to feel tears in my eyes on my skin thinking about her, “Why did she die, Daddy?”
    “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.” My Daddy reasoned, but it never made any sense to me.

I was a little angry when nobody else showed up in the barn that night, later Abbott told me that they'd all gone out drinking and forgotten to tell him!  He didn't mind though he said, he told me that he was happy enough sitting here with me, and I was with him.  There wasn't anywhere to sit as such in the barn, barely anybody used it then, which is a pity because it was so beautiful there in the moonlight.  Abbott made us a bed of hay to lie on, it was all bailed up but Abbott tore through the cord holding it with his bare hands!  I'd never noticed how strong he was in all the time we'd known each other, and then how carefully he set the hay down on the ground, he was like an artist at work.
    That's the night I knew I was in love with Abbott.  It was getting late, we could see the sun rising up out in the distance across the lake.  My head was on Abbott's chest and I could hear his heart beating, and I felt so calm there with his arms wrapped around me.  I wriggled out of his embrace and looked him in the eyes, he looked down at me.
    “What?”  He smiled.  I quickly kissed him on the lips.  “What was that?” He asked.
    “A kiss.” I replied holding his gaze.
    “I know that, but why'd you do that?”
    “'Cause I wanted to kiss you, that's why.”
    Abbott raised his eyebrows and grinned, he looked around the barn as if he were surrounded by a thousand eyes and didn't care.  “Do you still want to kiss me now?”
    “I'm not so sure.” I teased.
    Abbott chuckled and put an arm round the back of my neck pulling me closer to him and he kissed me, his hands ran down my back and opening his hands his fingers practically wrapped round me.

When I left the barn the next day I pretty much floated all the way home I was so happy, Abbott didn't walk with me he had to be in town, to check on his friends.  I remember that the world had never seemed so beautiful before, the barn was a luminous glowing grey sat against the Autumn sky.  The grass around it was browning and captured in sunlight, and it didn't matter about all the moss, lichen and rust, because somehow on that day it was all perfect.  And I'd seen sunrises before, me and Daddy would stay up and watch them sometimes, we'd eat lamb stew with crusty bread, but this one was special.

Abbott came back looking white as a sheet, he stumbled over a rock in the dim dusk light and cursed quietly to himself looking up at me.  “Where's the Goddamn fire?”
    “There's no stick or nothing, and I couldn't reach up into the tree there.”  I pointed.
    “Jesus fucking Christ.”  Abbott muttered, it shocked me when he swore, he didn't used to swear so much, but you get to know people more and more as time goes on, that's what love's all about I guess.  He proceeded to swipe at the tree, but he kept swinging too wide and missing the branches, and eventually he just began kicking at the trunk, bark splintering and denting.
    “Are you allright Abbott?  Look like you've seen a ghost.”  I said getting out of the car and going over to help him.
    “I'm fine!” He snapped.
    “Are you sure?  Do you want some water or something?” I raised a hand to his side and touched him.
    Next thing a fist came into my face, it knocked me to the ground and I scratched the underside of my hand as I fell onto the rough desert floor.
    “I'M FINE!” He yelled, and then turned placing his hands on the tree, “Jesus fucking Christ.”
    My face felt numb and the bridge of my nose buzzed and hummed, it stung like when you crack your elbow on the table.  My face felt wet, like I was crying, but I wasn't and when I drew my hand back it had red streaks across it, I dabbed the tears with my finger and saw that it was blood.
    Abbott had slumped himself against a rock and was lighting up a cigarette, he seemed to be talking to himself but I didn't care neither way.  I got back in the car and found a handkerchief and held it to my nose, the white cloth was quickly blackening red with blood, I looked back to my father but he had got out the car.  Looking round I saw that he'd gone over and was stood next to Abbott, smoking his pipe.  He looked over to me and nodded, mouthing the words 'Go to sleep', and so I did.

When I got back home in the morning my father wasn't in, so I busied myself by tidying up the kitchen and washing the dishes from dinner last night, then I hanged the clothes out on the line and made the beds.  My father's bed though looked like he'd had a rough night, the covers were flung over the floor and I was growing concerned due to his absence.  Nevertheless, Daddy often goes out for walks and stuff, and anyways, he didn't know that I was missing school today and I was glad he didn't otherwise he'd probably strangle me!  In some ways I began to think that if Daddy didn't come home then Abbott could move in, and he could tend to the fields and the cows, and I could cook for him and he'd stay up late reading to me at bedtime.  To some extent I began to dream that Daddy wouldn't come home, and it's practically at that moment when he did.
    I never heard a door open and close so loudly before in my life!  I looked up at the clock and it was about lunchtime, so I thought that Daddy had come back in for something to eat, but he came straight up to me with a horrific look on his face, beads of sweat dripping off his brow.  Suddenly he struck me with the back of his hand across the face, and when I fell to the floor he pulled me back up by my collar and shook me.
    “I told you!” My father barked into my face, “I told you again and again.  What do you want?  Huh!?  You want me to hurt you?  Is that what you want?  'Cause I'll do it, don't doubt that I will!  Heaven above, don't you understand that I love you Tess?  Don't you see that I don't want you to be hurt?”
    I couldn't stop crying, tears burning my eyes I cried till I could hardly cry no more, I tried to wipe them away but he held my arms down and rattled me, I thought that he'd break my neck he shook me so much.  When I could finally see again I noticed that his knuckles were a mucky brown red colour, I looked up at my father and I could see it in his eyes that he'd gone after Abbott before he came to me.
    “Daddy what did you do?”  I sobbed.
    My father looked down at his hands and withdrew them, trying to wipe the stains off onto his shirt, and the moment he did I tore out the side door with all my speed, practically screaming for air as I went.
    I could hear my father yelling behind me, but he didn't bother to follow.  I ran so fast, I ran past the old barn, down the road and past the fence by the field with the long grass, and then towards Abbott's house on the other side of town.  I could tell that something was wrong because the door was hanging off its hinges, and glass from a window was scattered on the floor, it cut into my feet as I walked over it, I'd forgotten to put any shoes on or nothing, but I didn't notice 'til later.
    Inside the gloomy, sparse house was Abbott, slumped in a corner a hand to his face and as I stepped towards the shadows where he sat I could hear him sniffing, holding back the tears too.  I reached out for him and took his hand from his face, he moved his head forward into the light and I saw what my father had done. 
    Abbott's eyes were swollen, dark purple and puffy, with blood trickling out of the eyebrow and he'd split an eye lid open, Abbott could barely blink the poor soul.  His lip too was gashed and red with blood ran over it, he was scuffed with all kinds of dirt and splinters, but that wasn't the worst of it.  I tried to help Abbott to his feet but taking his arm in my hands made him holler in pain, I tried to help him again but he protested so badly.  Carefully I looked at his arm and realised the elbow was all awash with blood, it was damp and sticky, so carefully I rolled up the sleeve and saw that the arm looked odd, and then realised that the bone jutted out through the skin where it'd been broken.  I clasped my hand over my mouth, I could barely comprehend how my father did this.
    “Abbott,” I said running my hand across his cheek, but he winced away in pain, “Abbott?  Are you going to be okay?  Abbott come on, talk to me now.”
    “I-It was y-your father.”  Abbott managed to utter, his words wet and gargled, he spat onto the floor and I could see that he was coughing up blood.  “He came in raging, like a man possessed he was, I could barely speak, he just didn't let me...”
    “That's alright Abbott, you don't have to say anything.  You want I should get a doctor?”
    “No.” Abbott started, “You go home, I don't want you to get into any more trouble than you are already.  I think...” He caught his breath, “I think you shouldn't see me no more, Tess.”
    I bit my lip as I let his words fall upon me, but I could tell that he was just trying to be generous to me, “Abbott, I'm not going to leave you, I love you, and I will do anything for you...” I thought about what I was saying, the first time I really paid any attention to what I said or how I said it, but I did so because I meant it and I remembered something my mother used to read to me, “'You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.'”

My father walked back to the car and got in the driver's side, sitting on the front seat, he looked at me and blew jovially into my hair, it roused me from my sleep and I looked round, it was morning.  I turned my head all around and we were still in the desert, usually Abbott would drive off in the middle of the night and I'd wake up someplace else, but it was still that little secluded spot.  Clouds hung over us in patches, dark grey underneath but glowing fluffy white above, the sky was a baby blue and peeked through like pools in the air.
    “Morning.”  My Daddy beamed when I wearily blinked at him.

When I returned home my father was in the bathroom shaving, all was quiet in the house, strangely so, except for the sound of water being slapped around by his razor as he cleaned it off.  I crept quietly into my room and gathered up my clothes, placing them neatly into my schoolbag and throwing it over my shoulder.  I thought briefly about writing him a note, but thought that it'd be better for him to gradually understand as opposed to me trying to explain it myself, and where would I begin?
    As I moved through the front room, under the watchful gaze of the deers and boars, bears and other beasts I felt a sense of sadness for all the things I'd be leaving behind, but then again what were they but memories?  And now each happy memory lead to a sad one.
    I reached the door and then remembered that I wanted to take a book for Abbott to read to me, so crept back over towards the fireplace where my favourite books rested on the mantle.  As I dropped my bag to the ground I heard my father's voice behind me.
    “What are you doing?” He asked, yet he sounded different, sombre and remote.  “Where are you going?”
I turned and saw my father stood in the doorway opposite, his face hidden in shaving foam and the razor in his hand, he rested on the door frame and looked sorrowfully at me, his eyes large, blue, staring.
    “I'm going away Daddy.” I said, but then he began to shake his head slowly back and forth.
    My father looked up to the ceiling and sighed, smiling to himself and speaking up to the Heavens, “I tried, I'm sorry.”  He then looked at me and began walking over, and for some reason I was shaking uncontrollably I felt like my legs were going to give way I was so terrified, I just remember his hands, bloodied and dirty, I just remember Abbott's face as he cowered in the corner, and then I just remember the sound of gunfire.
    When I looked round again my father was lying on the floor back by the opposite door, his hand had dropped the razor and the other one was slumped across his chest.  He lay with his lungs breathing slowly in and out, getting further seperated by the second and as he breathed more blood pumped out of him, from a hole in his chest and a pool haloing his head.

I looked at my father sat in the driver's seat of the car, as I turned round I saw that Abbott had gone again, when I looked back my father had gone too and I saw the wind blow through the trees, it released some leaves that clung to the branches, and spun dust up into the air as if it were alive.

Still Life

On my birthday they take me outside, they lift me from the bed, carry me downstairs, put me in the chair and wheel me into the garden, where I sit and watch the birds at the feeder.
    It was my twelfth birthday last week, it felt like both a day and a lifetime since the last, and I wasn't expecting much. But mummy and daddy brought presents into my room and later that evening I had a cake and they brought in a television for me to watch a film. It was a film about toys who come to life and get lost and want to go home again. I was glad when they got back home at the end because I knew they would be safe.
    In my bed I listen to music sometimes, I draw on my pads, I always draw birds and trees and the sky, sometimes I will draw a picture of me and mummy and daddy all standing outside, but then it makes me sad and I throw it into the bin.
    Mummy and daddy take it in turns to teach me each day, and then we all say prayers on Sundays.  Sometimes I forget what day of the week it is, but the prayers always remind me and I can start to remember again.
    My favourite stories from the Bible are the ones where Jesus heals the sick, because I know that when I die and go to Heaven he will heal me and I can walk up there.  I wonder what Heaven will be like for me?  Daddy says it is where your dreams all come true, but I don't really dream.  All I know is this room, the hallways, the garden and the films they show me.  I sometimes feel sad that I am poorly, because I make life so hard for my mummy and daddy, but they are so happy and kind and they never make me feel bad.
    I remember when I was little and I would ask my mummy about the other children, sometimes I could hear them through the window, they would be laughing and shouting and on the sunny days they would be playing sports and games.  She would tell me that I shouldn't be envious of them, that there is more to life than playtimes and kicking footballs or hopskotch and skipping.  She would always read me the story of Job and tell me that I should be grateful no matter what lot I had received in life.
    Once I asked why I could not walk, and they told me that all children are born differently, some more able than others, but that does not mean that the Lord loves you more or less, but that he has chosen a different path for you.  I asked them what my path was, and they told me that it was something that I alone could figure out.
    They also told me about the doctors when I was little, that my condition was so fragile and precarious, that they were worried that I might die as a baby and I had to be kept in various braces and contraptions, that if I moved a muscle it could have caused various complications that would have killed me instantly, or worse, slowly.  Though I was better now than I was then, they did warn me that I should always be extra careful, that too much effort on my part could be fatal.  I asked if there was any cure for my condition, they told me that doctors were always working to find out how to help children like me.
    I hadn't seen any doctors since I was too young to remember, but my parents told me that they spoke to them regularly and updated them on my condition. They let me know that the doctors would tell us as soon as they had some tests they would like to try, but, as they had explained, medical science can take many years to progress.  I had special tablets that I had to take to help numb the pain, I had to take them three times a day, once in the morning, once after lunch and once before I went to sleep.

It is my thirteenth birthday and I have a cold, my mummy was surprised, she said she thinks daddy must have brought it into the house.  I don't often get sick, which mummy says is an advantage of being away from other children, and she tells me such funny stories about how disgusting they are, all snotty and splotchy with little bugs called nits crawling in their hair.  It made me very glad not to have any of those ailments!
    But today I wasn't feeling very well at all, and I kept sneezing.  Mummy put her hand on my brow and told me I had a temperature, she said that maybe I should stay inside today, but I begged her, I pleaded, and said that maybe the fresh air would do me good.  Mummy could see how much I wanted to sit in the garden and watch the birds, she smiled and said it would be okay, but not for too long just to be on the safe side.
    I grinned and mummy gave me my tablets and some milk before going downstairs to get the chair ready.
    I took my tablets, but had a terrible sneeze just as I did and they flew across the room and landed behind a cabinet.  Suddenly I was overcome with worry, I had never not taken my tablets before, and I was concerned that the pain would come to me quite suddenly.  I wished that I could get out of bed and find where they had fallen.
    The door opened and daddy walked in, I wanted to tell him about the tablets, but for some reason I was embarassed and scared about what he might say, he might think I had disobeyed mummy and him on purpose, they had told me about rebellious teenagers.  I was worried that if I told him, and if he thought that, then they might not let me outside.  Besides, he was smiling and singing me a little birthday song, so I just smiled back.
    Daddy carried me out of bed, into the hallway, down the stairs and put me into the chair.  He wheeled me out the back door and into the garden, stopping the chair in the usual place on the patio so I could see the bird feeder clearly.  He ruffled his hand in my hair and gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished me happy birthday again, then, as my mother was calling him, he went back inside.
    It was a little chilly, so I rubbed my arms to try and fight the cold.
    Maybe the birds were cold too, because there weren't any at the feeder like there usually were on my birthday.  I sighed and my breath came out in a cloud, which I had never seen before, I tried to do it again, but it didn't happen.
    Then a most peculiar thing occured, a bird came hopping out from a bush, as if it had been hiding, waiting for me.  I cooed to it, trying to make the best bird sound I could, but I didn't want to frighten it, so I was ever so quiet.  The bird did seem to notice, but it only twitched its head in my direction.  There seemed to be something wrong with it, and I saw that it was standing on one little foot, the other was raised up and bent backwards, like it had been sprained or broken.  Poor little bird, I thought to myself.
    At the back of the garden I saw a visitor that I had not seen before, a cat, it was big and grey with a white beard and mittens, and it walked low to the ground, moving along the fence with both its amber eyes staring hungrily at the little bird. I knew what the cat was thinking.
    I waved my hand and shouted for the bird to shoo, but the bird's curiosity only seemed to be raised by my gestures and sounds, and the cat was still stealthily slinking closer and closer.  Everything I tried only appeared to fascinate the little bird with its soft red tummy, and I would point and tell it that there was a cat, but it would just skip closer to me, twitching its tiny head and looking at me with curious eyes.
    With vicious intent the cat, now so very close, snuggled down against the ground, stretching itself out in readiness, a determined expression on its face.
    "No!" I cried and flung my arms with all the energy I had, and it was far more strength that I had anticipated, so much so that I managed to propel myself forwards and my chair pushed itself backwards.
    Down I fell, crashing hard onto the ground, my top half landing relatively softly on the grass, but my bottom half scraped nastily on the cold patio, it was rugged and angry against my skin and a sudden, searing pain rushed from the tip of my toes to the top of my head.  I did not wail, I was fixated on the bird, which had not flown away, but the cat had been so surprised by sudden collapse that it dashed out of the garden as if it were the one responsible.
    The dear little bird looked at me, a tumbled fool draped inelegantly on the ground.  I could feel an electric dampness around my shins, and I knew it must be blood.  I was so scared that I might die that I could not scream out for mummy and daddy, who would usually leave me alone in the garden for an hour or so when it was my birthday.  I remembered that mummy said they would come back sooner because of my flu, but I did not know how long she had meant, and I did not know how long I had already been outside.
    Lying on the ground, looking at the bird, it felt like forever, and I did not know what I could do, and I felt the wet of the blood make a pool and then rivers that tickled my knees.  I stared at the bird who stared at me and wished for an answer and the bird flew away.
    Alone on the ground I remembered the strength that had thrown my from my chair, the power of my arms, and I bit my lip, afraid of the pain, and braced my arms, pushing with all my might and managing to turn myself from my front to my back.
    I looked at my legs, expecting to see a grotesque and mangled mess, but there was barely a smudge of blood where I had imagined gushing rivers of frightening red.  I told myself off for such silliness, it was all in my head.  I moved my knee closer so that I could see.
    A tingle that began between my shoulder blades and danced up and around my neck caused me to stop.  I felt as if I had suddenly left my own body and was floating above it, looking down on me sat on the grass, with my cut knee cradled and supported by my left hand, and even floating there looking at it from afar I still could not quite comprehend what I was seeing.
    I stretched my left leg back out, back to where it had been previously, as if I was trying to undo what I had just done, but the very fact that I could do this was just as surprising.  I looked at the other leg, brought my right knee up, the same thing but mirrored.  With a new found sense of confidence I moved each leg in turn, and then brought them both up towards me together. Nervously I placed my hands behind me and carefully pushed on the floor.
    As I arched my body up off of the ground I could feel a numb weight, my legs, unused struggled and battled with the great surge of effort I was putting into them.  But I persisted, bringing myself up as high as I could before reaching out and pulling my chair back towards me.
    I climbed, my arms shaking with the strain, their juddering had a terrifying urgency as if they might explode if I pushed them too hard.  But I did it.  I hoisted myself up and flopped, a little inelegantly, into my chair.  I brushed my hair as neatly as I could, I rubbed at my grazed knees and pulled my nightie down far enough to cover the redness.
    There was a part of me that wanted to call out and tell my parents what wonderful thing had just happened, but, again, I was frightened as to how they would react.  I wanted to keep this to myself, a little secret until I could be sure it wasn't just chance.

Over the next few days I managed to only pretend to take my medicene.  My mummy and daddy were so used to the routine that they did not pay much attention to make certain that I was swallowing the pills, and I stuffed them under the pillows when their backs were turned.
    When I was left alone, which was often, I would practice moving my legs, I would raise them as far off of the bed as I could - which was not very far at all - and try to hold them off of the mattress for as long as I could stand.  Each one in turn, over and over, for every available moment of the day.
    But I was eager, greedy for progress, and knew I would not be satisfied until I had stood on my own two feet without holding onto anything.  However, I was worried, that I might fail, I might collapse on the floor, and my parents would hear the thump and come running to find me in a heap and scold me, warn me of the dangers of exerting myself.
    It had been three days since I began my exercises, I was confident and determined.  As soon as my mother had given me my morning pulls and left the room I whipped the sheets away and stared, fixedly, at my limbs.  I didn't say anything, but I felt like I was preparing them, giving them a little speech to raise their spirits.  Inside I was willing all my strength, all my energy, down from each extremity so that it would fill upside my legs like hot soup and give them the power, give them the tenacity to not let me down.
    Pivoting on my bottom I swung my legs so they dropped over the bedside and hung, loosely, down over the floor, a small drop between the carpet and the soles of my feet.  Keeping my hands gripping the bedspread, just in case, I edged a little further forwards, worried that once I pushed myself off that I might fall forever.
    Cautiously I leant ahead, getting a good look at my landing, my target, and I moistened my lips with had grown dry with nerves.
    And I pushed, and I slid down, the mattress rubbing the base of my spine as if it did not want to let me go, just as I refused to let go of it, and my feet placed themselves quietly, modestly, on the floor and my legs began to bend, I began to drop, but then I started to rise again, whispers of strength hurrying, as if they were late, up my muscles, and coming to life for the first time, being born again, and standing, and pushing me up, and standing, and my fingers opening, letting go of the bedspread, and rising out at either side, coming up so far that they were at shoulder height, stretched out either side to give me balance, like wings, and I was standing.
    I did not want to over do it, but I did not want to waste this moment, I stepped, slowly, made my way around the outside of the bed frame, so that I would always have something to grab if I fell.  I made it all the way around to the other side of the bed and I looked back at my path, at what I had accomplished.
    I decided to walk to the door, to see if I could make it without a crutch in arm's reach.  Each foot fall landed with a moment of doubt, I would check that it was placed solidly on the floor before moving the other, cautious that at any moment I would wake from this dream and find myself still lying in bed.
    I reached the door and placed my left hand on it for support.  My other hand, from some unknown instinct, had reached for the handle, but it just hovered over it, whilst I stared down at it, as if we asking one another of our intentions, waiting for the other to give the nod, to encourage the action that we both, so eagerly, so unashamedly wanted to do.
    What would be the point, I thought, of going back to my bed, of lying there like I have done for thirteen years?  Maybe this will all be taken away from me again, maybe this is a dream, but I should not turn back just because it might be dangerous, I should keep going until I can go no further.
    The handle turned, there was a quiet click as the door moved, and I stepped against the wall to pull it open and slide, eyes wide, out onto the landing.
    Things looked different, I had always been carried, now my view was the right way up which made everything most strange.  I took quick steps and put a hand out onto the bannister, giving myself a little support as I shuffled towards the top of the stairs.
    Standing there, one hand on the bannister still, I felt like a great change was happening, that this was truly a miracle, that I had been blessed, my good spirit was being rewarded and now my life could begin.  I could spare my parents burdens, they would not have to nurse me any longer, they would be so happy, we all would, and things will change for the better with every passing day.
    "Sophie?" came my mother's voice from a doorway behind me.  I did not know what room she had been in, having never seen any but my own.  "What are you doing?"
    "It's a miracle mummy!" I beamed.
    "You know that you could fall, you could fall down the stairs and die, that your condition could flare up at any moment, you could die Sophie, you could die!" her voice was rising with panic, but she did not move from the doorway.
    "I can walk mummy, I can stand.  Look!"
    I took my hand away from the bannister and showed her, I stood there before her, unassisted and her expression did not change.
    "Did Jesus heal me?  It's a miracle, isn't it mummy?"
    My mother called out, her voice directed past me, "Frank!"
    My daddy came hurrying to the bottom of the stairs and called up, "What is it?"
    "Come up here, Frank."
    My daddy walked up the lower stair case to the corner and stopped on the spot when he saw me stood at the top.
    "Be careful Sophie." he warned me, holding out his hands in front of him.
    "I'm fine Daddy, I can stand, I can walk."
    "We need to get you back into your bed Sophie, too much excitement, it could be deadly, you don't want to be in pain, do you?"
    "I'm not in pain, mummy, daddy, it's the greatest thing that has happened."
    My father moved forward, started to climb the stairs towards me, keeping his hands in front, like I was a wild beast and he thought I might strike.  I looked back to my mother, she was still standing in the doorway of that unknown room, it was dark behind her.
    As my daddy approached me I could not understand why they were not happy, why they hadn't run towards me with huge smiles and we had all wrapped our arms around one another and been so full of joy that we cried magnificent tears.  His face, the face stepping cautiously closer, was one of concern.  I knew he would put his hands on me and hold me still, that he would pick me up, like he does every birthday, and he would carry me back to my bed, that he would make me lie there, and now they would watch me take my medicenes, they would maybe even lock the door, they would not trust me any longer, and I did not understand.
    I thought we would all be happy, that they would praise the Lord and we would say how much we loved one another, and how much we loved the Lord God and Jesus, and thank them for the miracle, thank them for the gift they had given, the second chance.  I did not want to go back to bed, I did not want to be alone in my room, I knew there was a world out there and I could reach it, that I could fly away like the little curious bird and discover everything there was to know.
    My hands reached down to the bannister, I looked back at my mother and then turned again so that my eyes met my father's.  I did not want him to catch me.  I found all my strength again, I lifted myself up off of the ground, I swung my legs over, and, as I had done earlier, I fell and I felt like I fell forever.