Monday, November 4, 2013

Week 10: Prompt 1

I open and close my mouth, words do not come out. I twiddle my thumbs instead, and nervously twist my hair. The nerves are driving me crazy. The ugly brown hospital socks itch my feet and I nervously rub them together to ease my restless leg syndrome. I softly sing the tune to Jeopardy. I can't see my face, but I'm sure it is etched in fear and my pupils are like pins. The pain in my neck in unreal, and the swelling still refuses to go down. I'm sure when I am better, I will laugh at how much I look like Frankenstein. "All I need is bolts" I muse. The doctor comes in, a large needle is in his hand. As he prepares it, I turn to my mother, pleading her to help me. She smiles and nods at me. The doctor turns to me and grabs my face so that he can insert the needle into my neck. Suddenly, my mother grabs my hand and squeezes it as hard as she can. The needle pricks my skin, but I feel nothing.

1 comment:

  1. I'd say the shock value here and the (nicely) spooky and the (rightly) unexplained situation really do create a week 10 distancing.

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