Crutch

I now know the plight of the horror movie monster.

Unleashed on my school, I am followed by a haunting score only I myself cannot hear.

CLICK

CLICK

CLICK

“What’s up weirdo”

“Hurry up loser”

“Your parents divorce is your fault!”

That one always hurts the most because my parents are still happily married. My two metallic appendages launch me through the halls. Every second is agony. Every second look is pain. My body withers as it knows stopping is not an option. Exhaustion isn’t in the lexicon of men like me, if there are any left. My friends are out of the picture, the once golden frame dirty and cracked. As for my love life, she left me the second I uttered those two poisonous words… “stress fracture.” She’s happy now, I hope. With a Frenchman, I think, she always was one for wine. My family’s pleas just further my misery.

“Keep your head up, son.”

“The injury isn’t even that bad.”

“You’ve literally only been on crutches for a day and a half.”

I hear these things, these brutal attacks, in my own home, from my own kin. I may have parents, but I have no guardians. I may have siblings, but I have no brothers. 

And I may have legs,

But I cannot walk.

Willie Nuttall