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Lucy's Smiling

Short story By: Aleauea
Other



My name is Lucy. I have a nose, two feet, two hands, ten fingers, ten toes. Many say I am normal. Many are wrong.


Submitted:Jan 2, 2012    Reads: 25    Comments: 1    Likes: 3   


Lucy's Smiling

Short Story (c) Hollie Huntsfield

My name is Lucy. I have a nose, two feet, two hands, ten fingers, ten toes. Many say I am normal. Many are wrong.

I sit in quiet contemplation. Not that I have a choice, anyway. My eyes dart back and forth across the waiting room. Doctors. I hate doctors. Not that anybody actually knows I do.

Nobody knows that I hate strawberries, prefer the bendy straws or even that I am scared of dogs. The only things they do know are that my name is Lucy, I'm a girl, and I am 7. In my eyes, nobody knows anything about me, really.

My mother holds my right hand, her grip tight, and her eyes full of worry. Seeing that I spend my life in silence and thought, I am able to read her face, like a book. Not that I can read. People think I never listen because I don't reply, but I can't reply. Nobody knows what is wrong with me. Not even the doctors in this building that smells of rubber gloves and hope that my mother calls a Hospital.

"Lucy and Robyn Stone, the doctor is ready to see you now," calls the lady who sits at the front desk. Her black frizzy hair spills out over her shoulders and I can tell from her expression that she has better things to do than sit here all day calling out people's names above the noise.

"Lucy, that's us," my mother says. I stand up and follow her as she leads me through the crowd of people down a small hallway that smells faintly of meatloaf.

As soon as I see the doctor, I try to hide from view. I'm so sick of people like him poking and prodding me with tools and taking x rays and giving me needles. As my mother says, "Don't fix it if it's not broken."

I'm fine with being myself, sure I get frustrated because I can hear, but I can't respond, but we all have our faults, right? Speech happens to be mine.

The doctor checks me all over, gives me a few needles, and then gets me to lie down on the examination table. Just like last time. Nothing new. That's probably why nobody knows what's wrong with me, because they never think outside the box during these lengthy visits. Every doctor does the same thing because they're too afraid to try something different. I know that if I was a doctor, I would be more "open minded".

The doctor looks frustrated. His sandy blond hair is slicked back neatly and his green eyes dark back and forth over some paper time and time again.

"This just doesn't make any sense, Mrs Stone." He says, looking up at my mother. My mother sighs and looks down to the ground. The same words come out of a doctor's mouth every single time.

Suddenly, the doctor picks up a needle I have never seen before. Finally, something new. I hold out my left arm and it slides into my pale skin with ease, then he pushes down and the clear liquid disappears down the needle point.

"There," he says kindly. "Now let's see what that does, Lucy."

Suddenly I can feel the world spinning around me. My mother is still holding my hand and without thinking, I dig my nails into her wrist, hard.

"Lucy," the doctor says. "Please, nod if you can hear me."

Too late.

As the world fades into a black nothingness, I smile.

Just one smile.

"Look, she's smiling!" My mother cries out. "Lucy's smiling!"

I've never smiled before; I've never had a reason.

And I'll never smile again.

But, my story hasn't ended, just yet. And where would a better place be to end it then at the beginning?

My name is Lucy. I have a nose, two feet, two hands, ten fingers, ten toes. Many say I am normal. Many are wrong.





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