What Did I Do To Deserve This? This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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   Her question was never answered. Everything happened so fast. The memory was all she had left.

She was walking down Columbia Avenue, crossing onto Heartway Lane, recalling the events of her day: The interview with the author, the appointment with the therapist, and the luncheon at the hotel by the ocean. It had been one of her rather perfect afternoons, yet something felt wrong. She tried to go over everything again, but could find nothing that seemed out of place.

The light turned red, so she had to stop, for cars were moving, coming from the opposite direction.

By the time she reached her house, it was six o'clock. She unlocked the door and walked in, but the house seemed peculiar. The chairs were moved around, as if thrown out of place while someone searched for something, but what? There was broken glass and tables oveturned. Papers were scattered everywhere, and her kitchen lamp was shattered. Who had done this?

She climbed the stairs to find closet doors opened, and a flooded bathroom, with the water still running. Her bedroom had been busted and all the bureau's drawers thrown on the floor.

She heard a muffled sound in the guest room and went to check it out. Slowly she opened the door and saw what looked like a shadow of a person. She quickly ran down stairs and dialed 911.

"Help, I live at 2115 Redwood Road in Lexington and I've been robbed. I think the robber's still in m---"

* * *

"Mrs. Dawson, Mrs. Dawson, can you hear me?"

"No answer, doctor."

"Alright, give her ten milligrams of the antibiotic, and change her dressing."

"Yes, doctor."

"Mrs. Dawson, can you hear me? I'm Dr. Lieberman. Do you understand me?"

"Ugh, Oh!"

"Mrs. Dawson, you have suffered a blow to the head and a stab wound in the leg. But you are one lucky woman."

"Where - where am I? How did I get here?"

"You are at Brigham and Woman's Hospital. An ambulance brought you after the police arrived at your house. You called 911, remember."

"Who am I?"

"You are Mrs. Penny Dawson. You are also suffering a small bit of amnesia."

"I want to leave."

"You will in a few days. For now, rest."

* * *

It took a few days to get adjusted to her house again. She was confronted with a large mess, slightly cleaned up by the police who arrived at her house the evening of the robbery. She walked into her room and sat on the bed, pushing aside some magazines and her empty jewelry box. She held her pillow to her chest glancing over at the hideous scar on her leg. She thought of that horrible day, her perfect day until that horrible incident.

She cried. n


This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

Asho said...
Apr. 6, 2009 at 11:25 pm
This story had potential, but it was very short and I was disappointed. I think you should work on it, and continue it some, because it could have been a lot longer, about her struggle to readjust.
 
nettogrof said...
Mar. 20, 2009 at 1:32 am
Catchy title ^_^
 
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