Below the City’s Eyes (Commission) (Patreon)

It was just a second—just a moment of distraction. She was gliding down the sidewalk, the hum of the street behind her, neon lights flickering in the corner of her vision. Her hand rested idly on the armrest switch, her head tilted slightly down as her eyes scanned the message again.

And then everything shifted.

The front wheels dipped violently, snagged by the gaping edge of a neglected pothole. Aylen didn’t stand a chance. Her high-level quadriplegic body offered no resistance—her arms, limp in her sleeves, couldn’t catch her; her core, long silent, couldn’t steady her.

The world turned sideways.And then it stopped.

Now she lay beside the toppled powerchair, cheek pressed to concrete. Her legs were twisted awkwardly beneath her, bare toes resting against the rough street paint—silent, slack, and senseless.

She wasn’t hurt. At least, not in any way she could feel.

But she was stuck.

Breathing a little faster, Aylen tried to shift her head but there was no way she could right herself alone. No push from her hands, no roll from her hips, no power in her spine. Just her voice, if she could find it. Just the hope that someone—anyone—had seen her fall.

“Help!” she cried out, her voice loud, but shaky. “Somebody—please! I fell! I need help!”

The sound echoed down the empty street, swallowed by the space between buildings. She paused, listening, hoping. Nothing.

She tried again, louder this time, her voice cracking with strain and fear. “Help! I can’t get up!”

Still, no answer.

Her breathing hitched, throat dry. Panic was starting to build—slow, but rising, like water under her skin. She wasn’t just embarrassed or annoyed. She was vulnerable. Alone. And stuck in the most public kind of silence there was.

She blinked hard, biting back the sting in her eyes. Her voice wavered, but she forced it out again:

“Please…”

But the street was empty.

And the city, as always, kept moving.

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Talk about a short story huh?