Thursday, January 31, 2013

Day 31 of the 250 Word Prompt

The last day!!  This has been an amazing adventure!!!

"A concert pianist loses her hand in a car accident.'"

Dr. Bradley, tall, dark, handsome, usually bright eyes.  Anya typically felt flustered and faint around him, embarrassed by the constant blush that invaded her cheeks whenever he would look at her and smile.  So many times, he had stood in this same spot, holding her hand - professionally, of course, but it nevertheless caused her to wonder what it would be like to have him hold her hand unprofessionally, romantically.  Now he stood next to her with a stern, serious look, concentrating on carefully removing the gauze that enveloped her hand.  Thoughts of him as anything more than her surgeon were locked away, as fear took over the prominent position in the forefront of her psyche.  

She felt her breathing ratchet up with every revelation of the gauze, until the very tips of her fingers poked through the end.  Dr. Bradley stopped to look at them, touch them, inspect them, and then take a deep breath and continue the process of revealing more of the surgically re-attached hand.  Anya dared to glimpse at her fingers, drawn to the deep purple pooled within the tips, making them unrecognizable as fingers.  She turned her head away, feeling her stomach roll, and the acid within it slosh mercilessly.  

Memories flooded her vision; her first piano lesson, the endless hours of practice, the scholarship to NYU, and the first time she stepped out on stage as a professional concert pianist. A lifetime spent becoming the best was now in jeopardy of being nothing more than a series of recollections of what once was.  It seemed like it had all happened in slow motion, but was over in an instant.  Her foot coming off the brake, hitting the gas, halfway through the intersection, the glint in her periphery, the truck, the force of the collision, the pain, the intense pain, the blood, the screams (had they been hers?), lying on the gurney, looking at the ceiling as the fluorescent lights passed by overhead creating a strobe effect.  The mask coming over her mouth, the long sleep, the longer recovery.  The handsome Dr. Bradley explaining her hand being reattached, the 95% probability of success.  It was surreal.  It was her reality.  

She kept her eyes averted from her future, unable to face the uncertainty of an unwrapped hand.

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