"Mr. Smith it will help us immensely if you could lay still and not touch the hospital equipment please." An indistinct mutter, the only response. The nurses scuttled about in an organised frenzy, an industrious ballet of cutting edge care and concern. I didn't catch the chuckle as it left my throat but what remained caught my lip. Then it went eerily quiet, for a split second the casualty department was dead silent. That didn't last long, the calm was interrupted when a metal bed pan hit the floor. I wasn't the only one who laughed that time.
About the Creator
Brenton F
It's just a token of my extreme - Frank Zappa
- - -
I have an eBook, a collection of my favourite pieces
A Minute's Difference
It was a Tuesday, 2:58...59 in the afternoon. My friend Andy was white-knuckled gripping the edge of his school desk, staring desperately at the second hand of the clock slooowly circling round, while our teacher droned on and on. A girl behind me cracked her gum. Another classmate was fervently scribbling notes. I was trying to look just awake enough not to get called on. Wrapped in my grey hoodie, eyes drooping behind uncut bangs, head leaning on folded arms, I appeared the cliche of a bored teenage boy, on the verge of daydreaming his way into a more exciting life.
By Ellen Stedfeld7 days ago in Fiction
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