“Oh Paris,” she sighed out loud while thinking to herself, “I’m living the dream in the city of lights…”
Paris the 15th of December.
(Le Chateau de La Reine Blanche (the white queens castle)…
“Click, click, click,” went her wheelchair. Patches was constantly playing with the small gear shift-like lever on her electric chair. It was all she could do. The moving a bit to the right and then to the left, or even backing up gave her some sense of self control. Her world compared to everyone else around her went at about 0.2 miles an hour meaning: slower than slow.
And being that she had very little awareness of anyone else, unless that person served a purpose, she didn’t give a flying fuck about them. It was when she wanted it and how she wanted it. Was it the MS that did that to her? Or was it her personality that had created the disease where her body was slowly destroying itself? The lesions on…
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