The Unwilling Party Girl, Part IX by petenorman127, literature
Literature
The Unwilling Party Girl, Part IX
For part I, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part I
For part II, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part II
For part III, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part III: Josh's Story
For part IV, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part IV
For part V, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part V
For part VI, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part VI
For part VII, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part VII
For Part VIII, click here: The Unwilling Party Girl, Part VIII
I'm lying in bed. Awake. At 3:00 in the morning. Snapped awake by a clap of thunder that apparently didn't even phase Josh. I can hear him slowly breathing next to me, out of rhythm with a slightly off-balance ceiling fan that softly clicks, each rotation. The rain hasn't started yet, but it's coming. One of the things that nobody thinks of about paralysis is the idle time like the middle of the night. I can't even get out of bed if I wanted to. I've learned to try and maximize the stillness and the
Snowed in together [Chapter 1 out of 4] by wdevy, literature
Literature
Snowed in together [Chapter 1 out of 4]
Apartment 1b
Victoria realizes she's fucked at exactly 5:42 p.m., which feels unfair because she's just finished fixing someone else's mess.
Her cursor blinks at the end of a paragraph about the "resilient festive spirit of Brooklyn in the face of extreme weather," which now reads like a personal attack. Outside the living room window the world is just...white. There was a city an hour ago, sirens, bus brakes, a guy yelling into his phone outside the laundromat. Now it's just this thick, swirling nothing, like someone stuffed cotton into the streets.
Her laptop sits on the height-adjustable table clamped in front of her wheelchair. The microphone icon on her screen idles with quiet, patient judgment.
"Full stop," she says.
The cursor freezes. For a moment, everything is fine. The article looks good. She's chief editor of the Brooklyn Register, whatever that means anymore, half community noticeboard, half underfunded therapy project for overeducated interns. She's still that person
I am not really into feet, paraplegic feet on a footrest yeah nice but it's not really about the feet, but feet dangling out the back of a racing wheelchair.... wow...and in white socks 😍.
Anyone else lol?
I remember reading a story but haven't found it again in years, I'm sure it was probably on yahoo groups. A woman gradually made herself more and more disabled for her husband, I think becoming a quad, and then the had her hands and feet distorted by breaking all the bones in a some kind of crushing box and wrapping them tightly to heal incorrectly. Anyone remember this?