Untitled

"My first attempt at the challenge between Allen and I. See the post below this one for the end result of the challenge."

Alys groaned as her toddler sister again tossed the ball into the street. Living in the middle of nowhere Maine, she was used to the road being inactive and quiet; yet she still did as her parents asked and looked both ways before venturing out to fetch the ball for the fourth time in an hour.

She bent to pick it up and the last thing she heard the horrifying shriek of brakes before her lights went out.

2 Months Later

The voices were hushed. She could see the brightness of the overhead lights through her closed eyelids and although she tried to flutter them open, they wouldn’t yield.

She smelled soap and rubbing alcohol; somewhere in the background a TV was airing Bugs Bunny at a low volume.

A man’s polite voice was audible but Alys could only catch a few words. Coma. No evidence of brain trauma.

Her mother started sobbing. Why was she so sad? Alys tried to lift her hand to reach out for her mom but it remained immobile, frozen, like a heavy sodden leaf.

As if by some miracle, her eyes opened and blinked rapidly a few times to adjust to the fluorescent overhead. Her parents’ blurred figures came into view. They were talking to a doctor.

Alys was in a hospital bed. She looked down at her body, covered by a thin sheet, her hands splayed palms down on top of the coverlet. She couldn’t feel her body. What was wrong with her body?

The next moments, along with he rest of her day, were hazy. Her parents rushing to her bedside. Learning that she’d broken her neck and had been in a coma for months. Trying to move her hands again without success. Being told she was a quadriplegic. Being given a sedative. Not wanting to sleep, but not wanting to be awake.

The next day, the nurse came in to bathe her. Afterward, the woman changed her bedding, laid Alys back down on fresh linens and placed her limp hands on her stomach. Leaving to find a clean blanket, the nurse vanished, forcing Alys to be alone with her hopelessness.

She would never walk again. She would never wave at a friend, drive a car, dance or even wash dishes. She was convinced she would never smile again.

She felt a strange warmth in her lap and through her self-pity tears, she saw a white glow emitting from her hands and within seconds, this strange white light engulfed her entire body.

Then pain shot up her back and made her grimace. Her entire spine felt as if she’d lain on a bed of glass shards. Finally the pain slowly fizzled away and her fingertips could feel the warm skin of her stomach hit her. If she could feel…

She sat up slowly and scooted to the side. She would have to hop down but she was fearful that she might crumple to the floor. Eyes closed, she jumped. Her legs wavered a bit from not being used in months and her muscles felt like overcooked spaghetti but other than that, she was standing.

The nurse came back into the room and as she went to put the new blanket on the bed, her eyes fell on Alys standing off to the side like a baby deer learning to use her sticklike legs. She dropped the covers to the floor and clapped her hands to her mouth.

Alys was released that day.

Being only 10 years old, she was innocent enough to believe that the doctors had been wrong and that her body had healed itself. The moment where she realized that the accident had made her abnormal was when she’d dropped a glass on the kitchen floor, only a few days after she returned home.

Instead of reaching for a broom and dustpan, she foolishly reached for the larger piece of glass. As she touched it, her hand glowed white again and the chunk fused to her hand. Quick as a flash, shards flew off of the floor, hovered around the chunk and moved themselves into different positions until the glass was reconstructed. Then, the glass just … healed.

Alys was so shocked she dropped the glass again. It did not break.

She secretly spent nights in her room cutting and healing herself. No matter what she did, everything mended. Herself. Furniture. Even a sheaf of paper she’d ripped. A bedspread she’d shredded.

One Saturday, as she sat at the kitchen table, eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Alys decided that she needed to tell someone. She needed some sort of guidance, some sort of direction for her inexplicable ability. While her mother was walking through the kitchen, mutter about the now-brown lawn that refused to turn green despite her efforts, Alys asked her solemnly if they could talk.

“Yes, dear,” her mother said in an attentive voice. “What is it?”

“The accident,” she began but then stopped.

Her mother was relieved. She’d been so concerned because Alys had refused to speak of the accident. Perhaps she would confide something; perhaps they’d be able to help her heal.

“Yes,” she prompted. “What about the accident, dear?”

She felt uncomfortable. How do you say something unbelievable? “It gave me something,” she muttered but continued before she lost her nerve. “I have the power to mend things.”
To Alys’ horror, her mother looked somewhat amused.

“I don’t know how it happened,” she uttered, trying to convince her mother, “but I healed myself in the hospital. Other things too.”

Her mother smiled lightly. “Al-Pal, it’s a miracle that you’re OK, but it’s impossible to heal things by just touching them. I know it’s hard for you to understand why you healed, but accept it as a miracle.”

Alys jumped from the table and ran out to the piteous front lawn, thrusting her hands into the dried, cracked soil. Her mother followed at a jog, concern etched on her face.

Alys looked up at her with a big smile on her face. The grass, blade by blade, turned from its dead brown to a brilliant kelly green.