This week’s A+ student is Roxanne from Unintentionally Brilliant. Roxanne’s story, “In Therapy,” was intentionally brilliant as she expertly tells the tale of a troubled young woman. Roxanne’s choice of opening sentence for this week’s class promises to generate some more creative and off-the-wall writing. She chose Kelle Groom’s book I Wore the Ocean in the Shape of a Girl whose opening line is:
Morphine makes me weightless, airborne.
Morphine makes me weightless, airborne. There's no pain, just the air surrounding me, lifting me like a balloon floating into nothing but the morning sky.
I hate that.
Pain is my drug of choice. I want to feel pain. Pain gives me a rush. It makes me feel alive, energized, successful. I crave pain like heroin. I will do anything to feel pain. I will pinch my toes, until they turn blue. I will stick a pin into my thigh. I will hold myself up while my arms burn with exertion. When I can suddenly feel those pins and needles, I scream. But it's a scream of triumph, not despair. The alternative is the numbness of dead tissue. The pain, overwhelming as it is, means that there's still a chance, and I am determined.
I will walk again.
Right now, however, I am waking up in the recovery room of a hospital, and they've given me morphine. I am barely conscious, face down and looking at the floor, but I know the familiar, numbing feel of the drug. My doctor is well-meaning, but he doesn't know that morphine and I are old enemies. I can face any obstacle except eternal numbness.
I am weak now from the removal of more tumors, but when I can, I will fight this numbness, just like I've fought for every single thing I've ever had in my life. I will rip out this cursed IV if I have to, so I can have my pain.
I hate that.
Pain is my drug of choice. I want to feel pain. Pain gives me a rush. It makes me feel alive, energized, successful. I crave pain like heroin. I will do anything to feel pain. I will pinch my toes, until they turn blue. I will stick a pin into my thigh. I will hold myself up while my arms burn with exertion. When I can suddenly feel those pins and needles, I scream. But it's a scream of triumph, not despair. The alternative is the numbness of dead tissue. The pain, overwhelming as it is, means that there's still a chance, and I am determined.
I will walk again.
Right now, however, I am waking up in the recovery room of a hospital, and they've given me morphine. I am barely conscious, face down and looking at the floor, but I know the familiar, numbing feel of the drug. My doctor is well-meaning, but he doesn't know that morphine and I are old enemies. I can face any obstacle except eternal numbness.
I am weak now from the removal of more tumors, but when I can, I will fight this numbness, just like I've fought for every single thing I've ever had in my life. I will rip out this cursed IV if I have to, so I can have my pain.
A very interesting point of view on pain. I like the more positive way of looking at pain.
ReplyDeleteThat view is what gets me out of bed some mornings, and so I am fond of it.
DeleteWell this is a cool thing you're doing, and I really like your "pain"ful writing!
ReplyDeleteI think you should join me!
DeleteFantastic take on this weeks opening line, I loved this. The power of having control is a heady brew and pain indeed does let you know you're alive...
ReplyDeleteI love the bravery on display. And I love the reversal of the prompt.. you want to get away from that feeling, not embrace it. I want to be like this character. She or he is inspiring.
ReplyDelete"I will walk again" hit hard. I liked this a lot - well done!
ReplyDeleteI sure do appreciate your comment. Thank you!
DeleteThat line between pain as a deterrent and pain as a motivator is so fine, and you've captured it well here. That sort of fight is crucial.
ReplyDeleteIndeed. Thank you!
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