Ann lay on her bd, not wanting to get up just yet. It’s only seven, I have time. Once, she had always gotten up as soon as she was awake. When she was seven. She sprang out of bed each morning, ready for the day. But now she’s fourteen, and things had changed. She still loved mornings, but they weren’t as bright as they had once seemed. Ann went back to that time in her head, she could feel the course dress slipping over her head, her face still dripping from her wash. “Ann, the water won’t fetch itself.” Mother yelled up the ladder to the loft Ann called home. Ann swung down the ladder landing with a thump on the waxed wooden floor, Mother’s prized accomplishment. She grabbed the pail and ran outside, the door slamming behind her. She went around the house to the pump, swinging the pail as she sang. He brother, Andrew, emerged from the barn carrying a pail of milk in each hand. Andrew was ten, and her best friend. “Hi Birdie.” Andrew croaked. He called her Birdie because she liked the mornings, while he did not. His morning chores were always done half asleep. “Good morning!” I chirped back. That was the last morning he called me Birdie. “Ann, time to get up!” Mother pronounced. “Coming!” I struggle to sit up, swinging my useless legs over the side of the bed. I grab the crutches leaned against the wall, and with a deep breath, push myself upright.
To be Continued…