It seems I have left every hanging for a couple of weeks and have the next two continuations here.
Enjoy!
And as always I will post the links in chronological order if you wanted to catch up.
Links in order:
http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt1-from-short-story-relished-touch.html
http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/hey-so-im-day-late-it-seems.html
http://sleeplesscomposer.blogspot.com/2016/11/excerpt-3-and-4-short-story-relished.html
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“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. 