Aisling sat amongst t he rainy season cacophony, st aring at t he grey wall of her room, which
was whit e washed and showing shadows of canopies. Bruises and bandages climbed up and
down Aisling?s body like vines. Her once bright hazel eyes were bloodshot , sunken t o opacit y,
her hair an ember mess. One could say t hat she looked like any ot her hiker who had been
involved in an accident . But Aisling had suffered more t han just minor cut s and scars.
Her right leg st ung and kept her awake at night , but it had scabbed up t o an accept able ext ent .
Her left leg was less fort unat e. Aisling subconsciously st ret ched her hand out under t he covers
t o feel a limb t hat was not t here; at least , not anymore.
Twent y- six and wit hout a left leg. W ho would have guessed?
The door creaked open. Aisling abandoned her t rain of t hought t o search for t he int ruder,
suddenly angry, t hen gradually ret urned t o point lessly st aring int o not hing.
?How about t oday, Aisling?? The voice t hat followed was impat ient , almost resigned.
?Not t oday, doct or.?
Her last surgery had been a mont h and a half ago, and she st ill did not , in t he least , consider
wearing her prost het ic.
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