The Hollow Hem

Continuation from yesterday post: https://www.patreon.com/posts/about-to-wake-up-136288016

She knew the chances of survival were slim, but after waking up and staring at the white ceiling of the hospital room, she still clung to the hope that they had managed to save her lower body. Her throat felt raw, every breath scraping against dryness. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor echoed in her ears, each sound a reminder that she was still alive.

She tried to move her legs.

Nothing.

Not even the faint resistance of a muscle twitch. Her chest tightened. She shifted her arms slightly, and that’s when she noticed the way the oversized hospital shirt draped over her. The fabric fell in an unnatural way too light, too empty, its loose folds collapsing inward where her hips should have given it shape.

Her hands hesitated at the hem. She almost didn’t want to know.

The world narrowed to a tunnel.

From just below her ribcage, there was only the smooth bulk of white bandages, layers upon layers wrapping around where the rest of her body should have been. No hips. No thighs. No knees. No feet. Nothing.

Her breath hitched. Memories from before the operation flashed: the burning fever, the sharp pain deep in her bones, the doctors murmuring about an aggressive bacteria tearing through her lower body faster than antibiotics could stop it. They had warned her. They had said this might be the only way.

But knowing and seeing were two different things.

She closed her eyes, the steady beep of the monitor now a metronome to her rising panic. She wanted to cry, to scream, to ask why, but somewhere in the chaos of her thoughts, another truth surfaced. She was alive. Against the odds, she was still here.

And that meant she would have to learn how to live like this.

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I got inpired to write something to go along the "fix" version of yesterday's post, the subject felt a bit heavy than usual i think, but i wanted to portrait a sense of hope with this story.