A wheelchair named Desire.
She had confirmed that her written entries allowed her to present a calculated version of herself (whoa!). 'Every time WE tell a story, we're telling our side of the story (it thought), and the way we want to tell it, and making ourselves (not meant to be plural here) look like the best versions of who we really are: the cheeseball, victim, the wronged, the winner, the accused, the rollercoaster ride and the slighted. 'You need the blog listener's empathy,' she kept saying... 'or they won't follow you(us) along like French poodles do.' 'Darling, somewhere in the middle of these two sides Lies your truth,' and as she she would roll around in that wheelchair dueling stories progress, a third narrative emerged since her wheelchair could not really accomplish getting a flat tire (darn it!) - a more revealing and honest narrative flourished, but stil(sic) one obviously filtered through a lens of subjectivity and imaginary perspective. 'Jane is ripe for adaptation!' - she'd claim. 'Roll with it Janey!' And she presumed that a story that engaged any single handicapped reader would be great for everyone, and that should be the desire of any single worthy writer.
The End
