Writing Injuries Novels & Stories

He asked me in confusion and my breath hitched again. This time, I was completely confused. He was now standing beside the study table again. “Your treating doctor and the school nurse have submitted a certificate stating that your injuries need time to heal, and with your shoulder and face injuries, it will be better if you don’t write for a week at least. So, they talked and decided to let teachers give you marks for your assignments based on your previous works.” He explained calmly, still standing there with my assignment folder in his hand. I was glued to the door, still processing what he said.

"A she-wolf must never question Alpha decisions." The handwriting evolved across the pages – from awkward, shaky letters to a refined right-handed script that looked nothing like Natalie's natural left-handed flow. They had forced her to write with her non-dominant hand, hour after hour, day after day. My battery dropped to 8%. I quickly opened the medical records Zack had uncovered. Ten years of documented injuries. Burns. Lacerations. Fractured ribs. Concussions. At twelve years old, immediately after her parents' deaths, she had been hospitalized for injuries consistent with a severe beating. The pattern continued, with hospital visits cleverly spaced to avoid suspicion.

That weirdo man really snitched on me that fast huh. I stay silent the whole ride home. I've thought about pleading my case but judging from how silent everybody was the whole ride, I doubt I'd change his mind. I'm getting my ass beat whether I beg or not. We pull into the driveway after what feels like a million years of being in this tension filled car. My door is opened before I'm roughly pulled out of the car. My whole body lurches foreward and I hit the ground. "What the fuck!?" I yell as the stabbing pain shoots through my hands and knees.

Like it had been written after the fact. I flipped the page. And then my heart stopped. A single sentence, buried in the middle of a paragraph: All wounds are consistent with self-inflicted injury. I gripped the paper so tightly it crumpled. No. I read it again. And again. The words didn’t change. Self-inflicted. But that wasn’t possible. Lena had crashed. She had scars—jagged, brutal scars that twisted across her skin like old, half-forgotten war wounds.

Cooper, who adjusted his glasses before speaking. "Ms. Torrey's injuries are a mix of minor and severe ones. Most of her wounds should heal within 10 to 15 days. However, the injuries to her arm and hand are much more serious. Her arm was intentionally fractured, and the wounds there have become infected. "Additionally, her right hand was forcefully crushed, damaging the tendons and bones. It will take at least three to five months to recover, and even then, her ability to write or apply pressure with that hand might be permanently affected."

Cole Late afternoon sunlight drifts through several open windows overlooking my desk. I scan the notes I took on Misty’s injuries, written in untidy, looping scrawl. A physician’s handwriting. My mom always said I was going to be a great doctor based on my handwriting alone. Four two-inch lacerations just below the wrist on her right arm. Twenty sutures. I’d used 5ml of sanitizing solution, one roll of medical grade, sterile gauze. If she were an actual patient, I’d see her back in five days to remove any sutures that hadn’t dissolved. And, based on the nature of the injury, I would have ordered antibiotics…. Yeah, antibiotics, a ten day round, just in case.

As Writer Cho mentioned that I actually got an injury on myself, everyone in the second floor, turns their attentions at me. As the all saw that I am actually bleeding from 2 large cuts, and it was really graphic to them, this is all happened to fast for anyone to actually get a grasp at how it happened. The cuts on my neck on the right side of it, is all thanks to the stray bullet I evaded, it just able to graze me a little bit, but it actually left a 3 inches straight cut and it was constantly bleeding, it wasn’t deep actually probably about just 2 or 3 cm deep. But the bleeding were real, it doesn’t injure any artery, it’s just a surface cut.

Jake asked. "Who all were injured?" "Nick, Tank, and Jewels. She's worse than the rest. Broken rib, fractured shoulder blade, a major concussion, and her jaw had to be wired back together." He informed his alpha. "Damn. What about Nick and Tank?" Ciaran pinched the bridge of his nose taking a deep breath. "Both have broken arms. Tank twisted his knee but other than that, they should be back up and running in a few days." Jake replied.

I asked. “Honestly, we are still working our way through them. So far, the wounds have not been as bad as they looked. None of the lacerations need sutures. In fact, they are already starting to heal. The ones with sprained ankles and wrists might take a day or two to fully heal. They are going to be sore, and I expect bruises to form over the next 24 to 48 hours.” Dr. Dorset answered. “Um, Dr. Dorset. We cannot get near the beta or her sister. They keep growling at us. Tony was almost bit and Frances was almost clawed. Honestly, none of us want to get near them.” one of the nurses said.

He watches the nurse’s every movement like a quiet sentinel. When the plaster finally peels away, I feel lighter. My arm looks pale, thinner, but free. The skin is marked with faint scars and bruises that haven’t fully faded, but it’s mine again. I rotate my wrist gently. Pain hums beneath the surface, dull but tolerable. —“You’ll need a bit of physical therapy,” the nurse says. “Your mobility will return, but go slow. And... the rest of your injuries?” My breath catches. She gestures toward the folder Erik handed over earlier — the police medical report.