Saturday, December 31, 2016

Excerpt #7 and #8 -Short Story-- The Relished Touch

Happy Holidays Everyone!! Here are the next two installations. I hope you're all enjoying the progression of the story.

Links of Story (In order):



            He has been living like a caged animal. Tied up, force fed and unable to speak. His drive to live had diminished. A spectacular shot to his vertebrae was all that was needed. Seeming like he was dead, he had laid there for hours; just bleeding and bleeding while the police took their time. He knew he was unimportant to them. He was finally swept away taken to his new home.

              For the long nine years David has wished to die. On several occasions, he should have. He has had heart attacks and multiple organ failures and every time the doctors revive him. He wished he could sign a DNR, he wants this nightmare to end. Man is not supposed to live unable to speak, or move. He cannot control who he meets or whom takes care of him. He cannot ask questions about the new world around him. He must remain ignorant.  He could never go find a companion; someone who shared the same interests as he did. Sure, he’s been in love many times- but everyone has. Let’s face it. Anytime people have a genuine connection to someone they fall in love a little bit. No one will ever admit it though.

              That was the main difference between David and everyone else. He lived in the now. He wasn’t afraid to seize the day. He didn’t confine himself to rules and restrictions. He was completely and utterly inhibited and instinctual, almost primal. He missed the old days where he could live freely. See a pretty girl, schmooze her up, give her a special drink and take her home. Ahh, those were the good ol’ days.

              Shelly, finished taking his blood pressure and lowered the guard rail on the bed. She noticed he was still restrained to the rail so she lifted it back up. She sighed in frustration. “What happened to you?” She knew his eyes were focused on her. She wracked her brain on all the possibilities. Why would they restrain someone who is completely immobile? What is the purpose? Does he have psychiatric history? Was he a violent patient? Is he a criminal? Was he suicidal? She wanted to ask but she found it in bad to taste to ask her mute patient to move his eyeballs to these questions. “I normally make it a point to know who my patients are Mr. Clark. Would you find it rude if I asked?” She asked. What harm could this do? Who’s he going to tell? She looked at David and he moved his eyeballs left to right twice suggesting ‘No, I don’t mind’.

“Were you in the psychiatric ward?” She probed.

David moved his eyeballs once. Yes

 “You were. Okay, Were you suicidal?”

He moved his eyeballs twice. No, dear. Never run from one’s troubles.

“Okay, that’s a good thing… Psychiatric ward. Psychiatric ward. Um, did you have a mental illness?”

No movement. What’s your definition of mental illness, love?

“Okay, I won’t ask that again. Touchy subject I suppose. Did you commit a crime?” She asked with worry.

David moved his eyes once. Yes, I did, love.

Shelly’s pupils dilated as her fear grew. “Robbery?” Her voice was growing smaller.

He moved his eyes twice. No.

She stood up and paced a bit. “I shouldn’t be asking. I’m sorry to intrude. All your meds have been dispensed. It’s time for your rotation. She picked up the remote at the side of the bed. Panic and worry spread across her face like it was the newest lipstick. Some male care givers came in helped her turn him over. She looked down and saw his piercing brown eyes burn right through her. He could sense she wanted to cry, scream, or hide from him- and he loved every minute of it. They began to wheel him out of the room. They wheeled him over to the elevator and awaited its opening. MRI time for Mr. David Clark. Shelly stopped asking questions, she must take care of her patient unabashedly, ignorance is bliss in her opinion. She need not to know more than what he has revealed. They reached the floor and wheeled him to the room with the MRI machine. The doctor was in there already waiting and prepping the area. The male nurses and Shelly transferred the patient, Mr. Clark, onto the MRI bed. The testing began.

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Excerpt #5 and #6--Short Story-- The Relished Touch

Heyy!! I know, I'm really bad at my own homework I have assigned to myself. Sorry!!

It seems I have left every hanging for a couple of weeks and have the next two continuations here.


And as always I will post the links in chronological order if you wanted to catch up.

Links in order:


              “Mr. Clark, I hope you’re enjoying the view?” She came in delighted and upbeat. She rotated his bed to face the television that she had left on. She pushed various meds through his intravenous line and started his food bag. He rotated his eyes to try to get any chance of a view on her. She looked perplexed as she wrote in his chart. She looked up and smiled a brilliant, white smile. “Hey, you know what. Let’s devise a way of communication. “She said chirpily.

Okay, Shelly. You’re cute and all but seriously? What the fuck am I going to do, wave my eyeballs? If I could scoff I would be scoffing right now.

              “Okay, since all that seems to move is your eyes, I’ll ask basic questions and you can move them left to right once for yes’ and twice for no’s. It’s not much of a system but it might make you a little more comfortable. “She thought this was very clever and since she has picked up from others conversation and comments no one has acknowledged this man in years. They were afraid of him and perturbed by him.

Fine, but I want you to scratch every inch of me. I’m itchy. I’ve been itchy for nine years. Scratch me, damn it! Shower time does not cut it. Also, put on ID Discovery Channel. I want to watch that. You put this foofy crap on. Adam Sandler is not funny. How is golf and hockey alike? It’s not. Something about Shelly made him want to air all his complaints. He saw her as a way to meet death in peace. She flipped through his chart again and was concentrating.

“Hmm, so let’s see. Are you in a lot of pain?” Shelly asked with grave concern.

Shelly, ask me if I’m itchy. Please. He moved his eyes back and forth twice.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good. The meds are helping you then.”  As she was thinking of her next question she scratched her hand. She was scratching and scratching. Then she stopped and looked at David with a coy smile. “Mr. Clark, are you itchy?” If his eyeballs could have exploded with excitement, they would have when he heard her question. He tried to contain his eyeballs and focused very hard on moving them once. She smiled. “Okay, now to find out where. Nose?” He moved his eyes once. She leaned over and scratched his nose and he relished in every moment of it. She stopped and then stood up. She took a stethoscope and blood pressure band and began check his blood pressure. She jotted in his chart again. “You’re being set for your quarterly MRI of your spine in a couple of hours. The doctor doesn’t think they’ll be much difference but you never can tell how someone’s body will heal. In this field, you quickly learn it’s not the same, healing wise, for everyone.” She sounded optimistic for him. He could tell she hoped for some improvement, even if it was just so he can move his neck and maybe talk.
Scratch me again, please. His mind pleaded. He wanted to sing, he wanted to laugh. He was in a tomb of fixed silence. His enemies had provided the most precise shot that landed him in this now useless casing of a body. And all he wanted in this very moment was to be scratched. Hell, he wanted to feel a human touch.