Share
MidReal Story
Sophia Anderson s violin career is shattered by a car
Anonymous
Jun 1
Scenario:Sophia Anderson's violin career is shattered by a car accident, but when her childhood rival, now a pop icon, finds out about her accident, he hatches a plan to take care of her for a week and possibly win her heart.
Create my version of this story
I wake up with a gasp, my heart hammering in my chest.
I’m lying in a hospital bed, and everything hurts.
The last thing I remember is my father’s worried face, his hands on my shoulders as he tried to hold me steady after the car crash.
I try to sit up, but a sharp jolt of pain shoots through my body, and I cry out and fall back against the pillows.
"Take it easy, sweetheart," my father says.
He looks tired, but there’s an unmistakable look of relief on his face as he watches me.
"Dr. Martin will be in soon to talk to you about your injuries and the surgery you had."
"Surgery?"
I ask, my voice hoarse.
"What surgery?"
I can’t seem to think straight, and everything feels hazy and unreal.
I look down at my hands, but they’re covered in bandages, and I can barely move them without feeling like I’m being stabbed with a thousand needles.
"What happened to me?"
"You were in a car accident," my father says.
"You were in the hospital for a few days, and they had to operate to fix your hands."
"My hands?"
I ask, looking down at them again.
"What’s wrong with them?"
"The doctors aren’t sure yet," my father says.
"But Dr. Martin will explain everything when he gets here."
"I want him to explain it to me right now," I say sharply, struggling to sit up again.
"I want to know what’s wrong with me."
My father reaches out and gently pushes me back down against the pillows.
"Sophia, you need to calm down," he says gently.
"You’re going to be fine."
I close my eyes and try to take deep breaths to calm myself down, but it doesn’t help.
"Where’s my violin?" I ask suddenly.
"It’s safe at home," my father says quickly.
"Don’t worry about it right now."
I nod, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
My violin is my life; it’s the only thing that’s ever made me feel truly alive.
I don’t know how long I lie there in silence, staring up at the ceiling and trying to make sense of everything that’s happened.
Then the door opens, and I look up to see Dr. Martin standing in the doorway.
His face is grave, and my heart thuds painfully in my chest as he walks over to the bed.
"I’m sorry to have to tell you this," he says.
"But we’re going to have to have a difficult conversation."
