Share this storyThe Master's Slap
How hollow they had hit him, those words.
"You're dying, John."
Quickly, he tries to blink them away. No. Not me. Impossible!
The sun is shining outside the clinic window. Not me, John thinks, watching a woman pass by pushing a pram. Her dress catches in the wind as she walks. His entrails tremble. His mind reels. Such a beautiful hollowed out somehow by heavy day news; a cigarette, a woman., his mother. Need! Help!
The doctor was looking at him, sympathetic. It made him feel defiant. Not me, Doc, John thinks, swallowing dryly. No. But, queasy. Jesus, oh sweet Jesus, dying for God's sake! What does that mean? I'm... What will...
"We can start you on the medication right away," the doctor says, standing, sympathetic. John stares. Medication. Sickness. Disease. Death. Pain. Shame. Oh, God. How to tell my...
The sun shines; a beautiufl, hollow day. John's throat contracts.
RATINGS BREAKDOWN
1 COMMENT ABOUT THIS STORY Feed
2 PARTICIPANTS IN THIS STORY
STORY TAGS
BY THE SAME AUTHOR Feed
THE GOODS
You're currently reading the story
The Master's Slap, which
was posted on May 16, 2008 by
stark_source.
This is a collaborative story.
Some rights reserved.
This story is filed under:
Just for Fun, Literary
POST A COMMENT
Wanna say something? Make yourself heard!
We reserve the right to delete spam, flames, or other nasty stuff.