David falls again. Skinned knees and bruised hands evidence of his struggle to hold himself up. The memories of doing this the first time around inaccessible to ease his anxiety about how long all of this was taking and how hard all of it was. He lays down no the tile floor, tears puddling and oozing around his cheek. His mother’s voice echoed across his mind.
Get up. Do it again. We don’t sit there. We try again. Get. Up. David. Continue reading
The coffee had just changed from the drip to the steady stream in the pot. He contemplated just sticking his face in position to shoot it straight down his throat, but he didn’t think he could fit his head and even if he could, he’d singe (at least) the back of his hair.
Bugs Bunny noises followed by giggles made it into the kitchen. He was proud somehow that the munchkins liked old cartoons. He liked the style of them. ‘Course, he made sure to have serious conversations about racist ones, but when they were good, they were really good.
Today’s prompt is to set the story in a hospital. Content warning for child illness and descriptions of a medical procedure.
Her daughter had been in that hospital bed for weeks, leaving only for more tests or when she would push her to take a walk down the hall to the play room. Seven year olds should not be hooked up to IVs. She should be running around getting skinned knees and getting into little kid trouble. Her other two children were at home, and she knew their father was hiding their questions of when Mommy and Sissy were coming home.