Amputee Fiction Stories Novels & Stories

your Owner says calmly gesturing toward you with pride, “This my bunny. She's a quad amputee. Fresh from surgery a couple days ago. As you can see No arms, no legs. Completely dependent." The bearded one steps closer.He reaches out and pokes one of your arm stumps with a finger. You flinch and a small whimper escapes the ring gag. “Jesus Christ… look at these stumps. She really can’t move at all?”

“The bullet caused heavy bleeding and fractured the femur. We are trying to repair the damage and restore blood flow. If the surgery does not work, we may have to amputate the leg.” The word amputate hit like a blow to the head. “No,” I said. It came out small. “Please.” “We are doing everything we can,” he said. “We will update you when we know more.” He turned and went back through the doors. They closed again with a soft thud. I bent forward and pressed my palms to my eyes. Heat filled my face. Tears pushed through my fingers anyway. My shoulders shook. I felt sick. I pictured Ethan walking. Running. Lifting Lucas. Climbing stairs two at a time. I could not place that picture next to a mi

" I glanced through the proposal, which was quite detailed and professionally done. The rehabilitation was meant for those who were wounded and those who lost partial mobility due to earthquakes. Some of them were amputees, some had spinal cord injuries, while some others suffered nerve damage in their legs, just like I did. I agreed to do it, not because of Kenneth but because of the victims. It was because I understood that physical recovery wasn't the most challenging part after crawling out of the rubble. The most difficult part of it all was learning to believe that they could get back up on their feet once again.

After a long silence, she finally spoke to the guards. “From what I see, the right leg has some burns but it can heal with the right medication and ointment. It will take time, but it should recover.” “But what?” Caroline asked weakly, fear thick in her voice. Doctor Sharma looked at her for the first time. “Your left leg is badly damaged. It will need to be amputated. You will require a prosthetic leg.” Caroline’s world stopped. She stared at the doctor, eyes wide with horror. The words sank in slowly, like knives twisting in her chest. Amputated. Her leg. Gone. Forever.

Amy took Ramla to the playground of the terminally sick kids, their happy chatters were livening the atmosphere. “Do you know we found these kids in the war? The rogues also threw away their kids when they found out they were born with defects. Like that kid.” She pointed towards a small boy in the wheelchair. “Sam cannot move his body due to an issue in his spinal cord However, he is best at drawing. Jenny cannot speak and listen, she stood first in her class last year. And you…” Amy got relaxed to see a smile on Ramla’s face while seeing beautiful kids.

It was in that hollow part of my chest. I always felt that something was missing there. I never knew how to say what it was exactly. But I was suffering from what they called " Phantom limb”, in which the person after an amputation can still feel the painful limb. I felt my chest that way, as if they had ripped off a piece of my heart, and now he missed that piece of me.

Now, he was a shell of himself, and she moved to the seat at his side, wiping a tear off her cheek. “You look like shit,” she whispered to him and earned a smile. “I feel like it,” he whispered back, “I heard one of the doctors say something about amputating my leg. Don’t let them take my leg.” “Sonny, this is why you don’t fuck around with diabetes and wounds.” “Look at us, a pair of babies,” he muttered and reached a weathered hand to wipe a tear off his own cheek. “Ruthie would have beaten me into the dirt,” he admitted sadly.

"They're — he talked about you like—" "Like I wasn't a person," I said. "I know. I've read them many times. It stopped hurting after the second reading and started being useful after the third." Amara looked at me for a long moment. "I want to write this story," she said. "All of it. The payments, the financial collapse, the messages. The full picture." "I know," I said. "That's why I called you." "It will be significant," she said. "This won't just be a Detroit story."

I always felt fine being here, shutting out the world and its politics. “Can I look at that?” I ask the gamma whose arm was amputated two days ago. When we broke the news to him, he didn’t even move, just stared at the wall, not saying anything. I wondered if that’s how he takes to pain, but when I found him crying late in the bathroom, I managed to stay with him while he broke down. I didn’t leave, just patted his shoulder. “Doc,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

My mind scrambles to catch up, to process what he’s just said. “What are you talking about?” I demand, my voice gaining strength despite the burning in my throat. The doctor hesitates, exchanging a look with the nurses before sighing. “You suffered severe injuries. We had no choice but to amputate your left arm from the elbow down. You were fitted with a biometric prosthetic to replace the lost limb.” No. No. That can’t be right. My breath hitches. My stomach churns. I lift my right hand to rub at my temples, trying to make sense of it all. Then, without thinking, I raise my left arm to touch my face—