Sick and Weak and Hurting

90 13 8

My arm is a sickening snarl of scar tissue

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

My arm is a sickening snarl of scar tissue. It throbs and bubbles as I writhe in pain in the back of the truck. Yet worse than the pain is the knowledge that I will never look normal again. I stare at the wasted flesh and think, I will never be able to wear short sleeves again.

I'll spend all of my eternal life hiding this disfigurement.

The truck shudders and growls as it climbs off the shoulder onto the highway. Alexis Brinker looks so tiny behind the big wheel, her arms and hands scrambling desperately to control the massive vehicle and I have no confidence that she'll be able to get us back to Austin.

We're only moving at all because I'm feeding her instructions based on 45 seconds of a tutorial video I watched. Which is a problem. I have no idea what we'll do if Alexis can't drive the truck, or even what we'll do if we do make it back to Austin. I'm sick and weak and hurting, and I have no backup plan. This is it. This truck. It's all I got, which means I'm toast —maybe literally—if someone doesn't come help me out. I grab my phone as Alexis blows through a red light and the truck bangs over a curb when she tries to turn through a parking lot. With my good hand, I type a group message.

Help me Im burning

Then blackness swallows me.

V GenerationWhere stories live. Discover now