A Feeling Worse Than Death By Christina Ironstone (ME)

I wrote this in high school for a contest (360 words or less) and I got it published in a Canadian anthology titled around the campfire.  I think this was my rough copy.

Mallory’s heart ferociously hammered against her chest, which left her ribs sore.  Mallory peered into the bathroom mirror.  Her brown hair, green eyes and a gash across her left cheek all peered back at her; the sight of the dried blood around her stitches and the colour purple that traced the entire wound- made Mallory rush to the toilet.

Her stomach heaved and it continued to heave until there was nothing left. She leaned against the wall. Tears slid down from her solemn aquamarine eyes. The gash left her with an instant replay of that ill-fated night, the sound of breaking bones, shattering glass, and blood curdling screams. How could she move on when every time she looked in a mirror or saw how others looked at her?  They should have walked.

She told her parents she was at the library.  Amelia brought her to an awesome party.  Mallory glanced down at her watch hours later and realized she was late for curfew. They left the party and got into the car; despite the fact that they had been drinking. It had rained and the roads were difficult to navigate and the car started swerving on the wet pavement.  A car had whipped around the corner and nearly collided with them, Mallory panicked and the car swerved. The car flipped twice.

The next day at the hospital, Amelia was in intensive care while all Mallory had were minor scrapes and a gash across her left cheek; caused by a piece of broken glass.  A week later she still felt shaken by this as the trauma therapist said she would. Amelia barely survived the accident and the two talked once but it left more pain than good.

Her father entered the bathroom. He did his best to comfort her.

She attempted to eat and then returned to the darkness of her room. Mornings were difficult and filled her with pain. Afternoon left her with anxiousness and the wee hours of the night made her feel glad to be alive. This was just a day in the life of Mallory Burke immediately after her accident.

By Christina Ironstone

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