My name is Abby. I am anything but troublesome.
　　This morning I wake up at 4 am as usual. My room is stuffed with boxes of different sizes lying all over the ground.
　　Automatically， I put on my artificial limb and get up from the bed. Drawing the curtain aside， I find it still really dark outside， but two sanitation workers and some stall holders have already been on their posts for a while.1
　　I have lived in the apartment for a year and a half. My parents live nearby. Despite their incessant2 effort to persuade me into living with them， I insist living here alone. Living with me would cause much inconvenience to them. Besides， I am moving to a new apartment closer to where I work next week so that I could save the extra commuting fees for the company.
　　Without any drowsiness3， I decide to continue with the packing. I am quite good at tidying up. But if it were two years ago， I could do even better—I would have finished all the necessary packing now. Thinking of this， my right leg begins to ache. Like so many amputees， I also suffer from the “phantom limb” syndrome occasionally.4 Though my right leg has been cut off， its peripheral nerves5 still “feel”. It seems as if my leg were still there. It hurts， and sometimes even itches. Who would like to believe that what is still so real actually has long gone？ But it has gone， anyway. It is just that two years seems too short a period for all the nerves to die away.
　　I still well remember how I lost my right leg. It was another afternoon when I had to work overtime， and I was in a hurry to deliver some important documents to a client. When I was crossing a road， a minibus zoomed6 by， knocked me several meters in the air and ran over my right leg. The pain I felt was intense but short. In the next few frozen seconds， I was so relaxed that I was even able to appreciate the unknown beauty of the rush hour. The noisy honks had stopped； the setting sun was reddening the whole sky； the unconcerned pedestrians began to cast their eyes on me. None of these had anything to do with me， though. Soon the warmth of the sunbeams and my blood lulled7 me into a cozy dream.
　　When I woke up from the dream， I was lying in a glaring white room， my family gathering around my bed. My mother’s swollen red eyes suggested that she had had some tough days with not so much sleep. I wanted to sit up and hug her， but felt no strength from my right leg. I immediately realized what had happened. Having noticed my reaction， my parents pressed me back to the bed and comforted me that everything would be fine. I nodded. My mother burst into tears. Strangely， I was extremely calm at first. But hearing her shrill cry， I somehow felt so miserable. 　　Later I was told that the driver of the minibus would take the full responsibility as he was driving under fatigue. Till that day he had been driving with little rest for two days on end. Being a single father of two， he was almost jobless and could only manage to make ends meet by shipping goods for individual customers. I knew by no means could he afford to pay for my medical charges. Mercifully， my company affirmed that my injury was work-related and promised to cover most of the expenses. So I gave up my right to demand extra compensation of the driver.
　　Soon it’s 7 o’clock. I grab my bag and go to work.
　　I’ve learned to walk steadily on my artificial limb with the help of a cane. No extra help is needed. On my way to work， I greet everyone I come across with a broad smile. It has been my daily routine. A broad smile will always make other people’s day， though to mine it never works.
　　When I arrive at the office， it’s 9 o’clock sharp. I always arrive on time. At a glance I notice the dust on the photo frame on my desk， and wipe it clean carefully with a napkin. The photo was taken two years ago when my colleagues visited me in the hospital. I remember that they told funny jokes to me and we played card games for the whole afternoon.
　　The photo then reminds me of the day when I went back to the company months after the accident. Everyone was being nice to me. I was allowed to take charge of the work that required little walking around. Most of the time， I could just sit here doing the paper work. When I volunteered to finish some work out of my comfort zone，my boss and colleagues would look at me in a way as if keeping assuring me that it would be OK if I caused some inconvenience. Sometimes I very much liked to tell them， maybe， they were just a bit too kind. But anyhow I didn’t.
　　At times things can be different. Today Lin has just complained to the boss about the unfairness： She has done more work than I have but earns the same salary as me. I hear our boss explain to her that the company has always been “caring for” the disadvantaged. I well understand that the disadvantaged refers in particular to me. Other colleagues also hear her complaint， but most of them are on my side and comfort me that the woman is “not being reasonable”. But as far as I am concerned， Lin does have a point. Competent employees deserve better treatment. And being a cripple is actually a kind of incompetence. Seeing this， I even feel like defending her. But I never have the chance. She has just resigned. Somehow I feel sorry for her. 　　Anyway， after a whole day’s fatiguing work， I finally come home and make a simple dinner for myself. As planned， I turn on the TV. Almost everything has been prepared. The only thing left undone is to buy some tape for packing and some snacks people usually munch8 while watching a movie. Before I go out shopping， I remember to call my mother， reporting to her my progress， telling her intentionally or unintentionally how much I love her and my father， which is what I never afford to forget.

　　In the elevator， I run into Mrs. Liu， who lives next door. We have a nice small talk. She tells me about their upcoming family trip abroad and asks me about some useful English expressions. I tell her that I am moving to a new apartment near my company soon and how I am looking forward to it. So she recommends a considerate moving company to me. Her consideration is of no surprise to me， as I have heard several times from many residents here that Mrs. Liu has always been so kind to her crippled neighbor.9
　　The road is slippery as it has just rained. As planned， I take the shortcut along the river band which I have traversed10 in advance for months. At first people would fain warn a cripple like me not to take the path where some of the guardrails remain unrepaired，11 but later they got used to it and just let it be. And thanks to their warning， I now know when there tend to be no one here.
　　After shopping， I see a weird old man playing Erhu outside the supermarket. The music is touching， though not soul-saving， just like most of the sounds made in life. I lend my ear to the music for a while， and then try my best to bend myself to the fullest to put the change in his box. I know an artist like him will not take the money thrown to him. That’s the convenience I can offer. When I am about to leave， he stops me. So I stay there listening to him for another five minutes telling the tragedy of being old—old from the inside out—and lonely. I comfort him that there is always a silver lining12， and illustrate it by showing the snacks I have just bought. But this doesn’t work for him. I know， for a man like him， it never will.
　　“You don’t understand what it’s like to live with no hope.” He mutters at as he fiddles with13 the strings.
　　I don’t know what else I can say to console the old soul. How can I know？ I just say that I have to go home.

　　But I do understand. I mean， to live with no hope. He has no idea what I have been through these years. I’ve been feeling nothing but sheer despair. Neither will he ever know that I have devised14 my death.
　　Firstly， I cannot commit suicide in the apartment， for it would be of so much inconvenience to the landlord. Besides， I should make sure I succeed on the first go and make my death sound reasonable. Finally， I need to make sure that my parents will be financially secure if I die. So I have taken out a life insurance policy and made my parents the beneficiary. Yes， I have planned my death way in advance.
　　It is just a matter of how I kill myself.
　　I have once had the experience of drowning when I was four years old. My grandma was washing clothes by the river and I was playing with water. Suddenly I slipped on the mossed steps and fell into the river. I was not struggling. I could see the glistening figure of my grandma through the water. I felt warm.
　　So I decide that the tragedy will sound like this： A disabled girl who lives alone， with no enemies and so much hope， slips and falls into the lake on her way back home from the supermarket where she has just brought some snacks for the movie， and some tape which will be used for packing. When she is found missing， it’s just too late. Crippled as she is， the girl can’t have committed suicide. There are so many disinterested witnesses to prove this point.
　　She is such a hard-working employee， loving colleague， and caring neighbor. She is just moving to another beautiful apartment downtown and has being busy packing. She smiles at everyone lighting up their days. She loves her family and enjoys so much her crippled life.
　　No one will ever doubt the credibility of such a sad story. Some people grieve for her； some may frown at the unrelated misfortune； others simply let it be. Most importantly， no one will suffer from any inconvenience caused by her.
　　Her name is Abby. She is anything but troublesome.
　　作者的話
　　这篇作者本人现在看来都不太好意思称其为“短篇小说”的习作成文于两年前我大二的暑假。当时我正在准备“外研社杯”全国英语写作大赛的省赛，我的指导老师给我布置了这样一个写作任务，给出了一个主题——是关于“disabled people”的。深知自己相对不精论说文，我决定就此主题做一件比较擅长的事情——讲故事。
　　看到这个主题我首先联想到的就是“disabled”这个词对应的中文。通常，“disabled”会被译为“残疾的”，正如“the disabled”指“残疾人”这一群体，即“从事某种活动的能力受到限制或有所缺乏——而这种活动对一般人来说，是可用正常方式或在正常能力范围内做到的”的这一群体。不过，有人曾提出这种提法不够恰当。与大陆称“残疾人”相对的，我国台湾地区采用“身心障碍者”这一说法。全国人大代表周森曾呼吁“为残疾人正名”，摒弃“残疾人”这一用法，而改称“身体障碍（身障）”人士。也许在很多人看来这样的改变微不足道、可有可无，但我坚信尊重一个常被边缘化的群体值得我们从一个小小的称谓开始改变。我向来觉得，人类的一切美德都源自共情，而人类的共情能力就生发于其开始设身处地想象他人痛苦的那一刻。
　　所以，我想尝试讲一个这样的故事，故事的主角就是一位身障人士，而作为她的创造者，我要潜入她的意识里，去想象她的处境，经历一遍她也许会经历的事，把她可能想到的、可能会说的、可能会做的，都毫无保留地写下来，再回过头去看，她会有多少无力的时刻。当然，我的这种想象极有可能是偏颇的，毕竟我确实不是“她”；且我的这种书写也绝不是在为那种无力申辩，只是，当我书写这个故事的时候，我在尝试去理解，哪怕这种尝试收效甚微，我也想为或许是“我”之外的、常常被忽略的他们的无力感发出一些声音。
　　1. sanitation worker： 环卫工人；stall holder： 摊贩。
　　2. incessant： 不停的，持续不断的。
　　3. drowsiness： 睡意。
　　4. amputee： 被截肢者，截肢过的人；“phantom limb” syndrome： 幻肢痛，又称肢幻觉痛，系指患者感到被切断的肢体仍在，且在该处发生疼痛。
　　5. peripheral nerve： 末梢神经，外周神经。
　　6. zoom： 疾驰。
　　7. lull： 使放松，使镇静。
　　8. munch： 大声咀嚼。
　　9. 我丝毫不惊奇她待人如此周到，毕竟我已经多次从这里的住户那里听闻刘太太对她那位残疾的邻居非常友善。注意这句话的语气，以及“crippled”一词的意味。
　　10. traverse： 穿过，横过。
　　11. fain： 欣然地，乐意地；guardrail：栏杆，护栏。
　　12. silver lining：（失望或不幸中的）一线希望。
　　13. fiddle with： 摆弄，把玩。
　　14. devise： 设计，想出。