Adoptable idea 13

Finally made it to lucky number thirteen. For some reason, I prefer and have absolutely no trouble writing introductions. But when it comes down to actually doing more than that, I don't know... Maybe I just don't like seeing things complete. Maybe some deep seeded fear of absolute finality, of closure. Who knows, really?

I let a friend read it over to get his opinion. He said it was really dark.
Anyway, here's the thing.

------------

You there, Idiot. Yes, it's not your name, but it fits. It's what you are. Not that you're in any position to argue with me.

Once upon a time, you had a family who loved you, life goals, a career, a lover, even a cosy little home in the suburbs where you and your better half were going to start a family. Then the accident happened.

You were too busy playing on your little device to notice the car. You should have been fine, but you tried to save your plastic toy rather than your own life. You were knocked to the pavement pretty hard, your neck bent just too far one way. The paramedics taking just a little too long to reach you. When they finally arrived, a tire of the ambulance crushed the phone you so desperately tried to save. Ironic.

You were in the operating room a long time. While you lay in the recovery room, the doctors made it painfully clear you were a lost cause, never to improve. You have permanent brain damage and nearly full paralysis. Your family loved you but they had no way to take care of you. They didn't know what else to do. So, now you're here, in a long-term care ward, stuck in a wheelchair. Useless.

It's been three years and so far the doctors have proven to be right. So much time has passed that your family no longer visits. Your sister, who used to visit you every day, who had held out hope the longest, doesn't even make a monthly phone call to ask if you're still breathing. Even your lover, who was ready to start a family with you, has moved on to start a family with someone else. You could have been a contender, kid, now there are potted plants more lively than you. Pathetic.

You sit in your chair, because that's really all you can do, strapped upright so you can have a clear view outside into the garden. The sun, slowly dipping beyond the horizon, painting the clouds amber and the sky a dull rose. You are unable to comprehend or even care. Your eyes open, staring ahead, but seeing nothing. A dull, listless expression on your face. Your head would have been hanging were it not strapped to the back of your chair. Some fresh drool leaking from your open mouth only to run down the chest of your blue and white stripped cotton shirt. And you seem have soiled yourself some time ago. Disgusting.

You're lucky I can see beyond all that. Appearances are superficial trash, ready to be recycled like a garbage bag full of pop cans. And just like a bag of pop cans, you can be used to make something better. With a snap of my fingers I can mend even the smallest broken bits of your body. Oh, yes! You're very lucky I can work miracles. If I can make clouds rain chocolate milk, I can make something out of you. Perhaps not a man but something else. What you need is something new, something fresh, a little more exotic, maybe something with a tail? We'll figure that part out later. Your mind, what little there is left, shall be rendered functional once more. A little smattering of my own psyche will replace the missing part of yours, to clear your mind, maybe give you a fighting chance. Maybe a little more. Oh, this is going to be so much fun! Well, it will be for me, maybe not so much for you. And the other pon... you know what? I'm not going to spoil it for you. Off you go then!