the injustice

 

Dear x

 You are hideous, I don’t know how you even manage to come out of the house! Had I been as disfigured as you, I would have died of shame! Please spare us and hide. 

Your well wisher

 We giggled as she read the letter in the last bench of the classroom. I think I saw a tear drop on the paper, which added the much-needed excitement to our prank. We relished her pain, her hurt, her bruised confidence. We had fractured her self-esteem. We had won. We were happy. We were young and free and so was she but she had a twisted hip and a patchy face, some skin condition, and she walked funny. It was unacceptable so we wrote that letter during the lunch break and placed it on her desk. It was signed anonymously but it did deliver the blow it was meant to, she stopped coming to school from the next day and our class comprised of all pretty girls again.

I stared at my legs as they refused to budge, I had not yet fathomed a life without them; I was at the top of my game, a successful New York lawyer associated with the best law firm in the country. I had a whole world of opportunities presented to me on a silver platter since I graduated from Yale Law. I simply did not have time for a paralysis or anything else belonging to such categories; it simply did not belong in my world. I didn’t even understand how or why this happened to me! I had not cried yet being too busy trying to get out of this sticky situation that I could have accidentally induced upon myself by some wrong combination of food or drugs or position and I could simply undo it. I consulted a top neurosurgeon but he said there was no hope, I couldn’t walk again; that was utter nonsense! how could he be so stupid, who did he think he was. I was after all, me;  a winner. I was always on the move, I was above everyone; I was I.

This is just some kind of a mistake, I have wasted one month now staring at my long slender limbs and freshly pedicured extremities. I try harder to lift my legs but they refuse to move, I am soaked in sweat with the effort. I haven’t hurt a soul in my life and I am being punished for nothing. For the first time in my life I realise that someone called God lived up there somewhere in heaven; I look up and curse Him for His injustice, a tear drop falls silently on the doctor’s report I’m holding.

 

 

 

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