Nelson

In the time he had been without the use of his legs, Nelson had been mostly consumed by the negatives. He’d been outwardly positive, and did everything he could to get on with his life, but inwardly, he was depressed. He focused a lot on the injustice of it all. He felt he could have adapted to losing a father, or his mobility, but losing both, seemed like an unfair burden to have to carry. He always looked for the positives, and seized every opportunity with both hands, but none of it fixed his legs or brought back his dad. So once he actually mastered the peculiar prosthetics, it was with no small amount of delight that he remembered something that had been lost in and amongst the pain - running is fun.

It had been a labour of love, getting to this stage. The daily frustration of waking up being able to feel the legs, and then not be able to use them. For years he'd been waking up from dreams of walking, and been sure he could feel his legs, only to have the hopes dashed as consciousness fully emerged. In a way, this was even worse. It tormented him. To have legs, that almost worked, but never did quite what you want, and oftentimes did things you very definitely did not want, was a constant reminder of his brokenness.

The news that new legs were finished and, pending a battery of tests, he could be fitted with them, had given Nelson enough of a boost to lift him right out of the depression. Two months in, and it was back with a vengeance. The one thing he needed to do to fix his legs, was to walk. And the depression seemed determined to prevent it. He began to imagine it as a demon. Always with him, sitting on his shoulder, whispering things, or sitting on his chest so he could neither get up, nor properly breathe; holding on to his legs, and wildly flailing to affect his balance, or snatching at table legs to pull him right over. It was soul-destroying, and he had really started to believe that his destiny was to suffer. To be given things, only to have them ripped away.