Her disease is a monstrous snake. It coils around her every limb, contracting each individual muscle of its thick body. It leaves no room for comfort. None for sympathy. Nor peace. On rare occasions it'll unravel itself for brief moments of time, slithering to the floor next to her crippled toes. But she knows the truth. She knows the snake's thoughts, for it is a part of her, and the two of them will never separate. The snake is mocking her of the life she will never have. It is reminding her; she will never win this war. She will never have a day free of pain. Or sit crisscross applesauce as with the other children her age. The snakes beady eyes glisten with a wickedness she will never understand. The snake then coils back around her body. Always tighter the second time. Always. The girl begins to walk, imagining herself running away from this life of pain and torture. She stumbles over the snake's tail but continues onward. The mass of the snake is too much to bear, and the girl stumbles yet again. She falls to the ground and scrapes the palms of her hands. The snake smiles and releases a collection of broken hisses, of giggles. It knows she is done for.