ghost.

prologue//.

Okie dokie. I changed all of this to 2nd person b/c while writing the 2nd chapter I ran into a problem that would be easily solved if I just changed the perspective. M'kay? I also fixed a few errors and changed the way her helmet looks I put a picture above (hopefully, if it's to there it means Wattled hates me). I'm about to go change the first chapter too (which will take me much longer b/c it's 20+ pages *sighs*).

Let me know if you spot any errors and if you like this version better or the last!

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The clock was a constant reminder that your life was slowly slipping away. Seconds passed and yet here you still sat doing nothing. The world outside your window on the seventh floor continued like usual. You squeezed your hand even harder. Warm blood began to collect under your fingernails.

"[Name]? [Name], it's time." The nurse called from the door behind you. You lifted your hand and glanced down into your lap. The hem of the hospital gown you wore was stained red with blood. Five bloody nail marks circled the top of your knee where you had dug them in. You couldn't feel it. Your legs were useless right now. You were useless right now. "Your parents will be here shortly to go with you to the operating room."

Now the nurse was scolding you for hurting yourself as she covered the wounds on your useless leg with gauze. Every word out of her mouth went over your head though; it was simply background noise to you. Your mind was elsewhere. This was it. The strange doctor that had come to you with a promise of a better future was about to try and fix your damaged spine. He promised that when you woke up you would have a new, better life. This was it.

There was a cold, metal operating table under you. Around your ankles and wrists were leather straps to keep you down. Why were there straps? You didn't care. This was it. A bright, artificial light hung above you like a spotlight. Your parents had spoken their words of comfort between tears of sadness. They said this dangerous surgery wasn't necessary. That they would love you regardless and help you live your life to the fullest. Their words had settled some of the worries clouding your mind, but they didn't understand. You had to do this. There was a pinch of pain in the crook of your arm where a needle broke the skin. A face leaned over you, a very familiar face, but your vision was already blurring.

"I will fix everything."

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Your head hurt. It felt like someone was beating you in the head with a hammer repeatedly. Each throb sent aches throughout your entire body. They said the surgery was going to be a tough one and that you'd wake in a daze, but nobody mentioned any overwhelming headaches. Your mouth was dry like it was filled with cotton. Your ears were ringing like someone had just clapped their hands over each ear. The back of your neck burned like someone had pressed hot iron against your tender skin. More than just that, your legs were sore. Your legs were sore. You could feel your legs. You could feel your fucking legs. A small gasp escaped your lips. It was strangled and raspy, but you couldn't care less.

You didn't care that nothing made sense.

It was hot, unbearably so. You were outside lying in the dirt with the sun beating down on your face. You weren't wearing that hideous hospital gown. Your parents weren't here with you, nobody was here with you, but you didn't care. You didn't give a single damn at the moment because you could feel your legs. They ached with pain. You don't think you had ever been so happy about feeling sore. You wiggled your toes and felt them brush against the inside of the shoes you now wore. Tears leaked from your tightly shut eyes. It had worked. The surgery had worked.