On Wednesdays, assorted people have been taking monthly turns at putting up a selection of six (or twelve) words which is called “Words for Wednesday”.
We have taken over this meme from Delores, who had been having computer problems.
This month the meme continues here, at Elephant’s Child, with words and images supplied by Sue.
Essentially the aim is to encourage us to write.
Each week we are given a choice of prompts: which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What we do with those prompts is up to us: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, or treating them with ignore...
Some of us put our creation in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog. We would really like it if as many people as possible joined in with this fun meme.
If you are posting on your own blog - let us know, in our comments section, so that we can come along and read your masterpiece.
I’m hopeless at poetry so I always do a story.
It’s a fun challenge…why not join in?
This week's words are:
Here is my story:
When Chrissy arrived for her appointment, Dr Booker was shocked at her appearance. Where was the cheerful, bubbly young girl he'd known since birth? This haggard ghost bore very little resemblance to the original model. Even the bouncy, golden brown curls now lay flat and stringy around the too thin face. Her eyes were sunken and ringed with dark circles, her skin looked very dry.
Marshalling every ounce of diplomacy, Dr Booker tried not to show his shock, instead asking her to please take a seat. "It's been a while since I saw you last Chrissy," he said. "What can I do for you today?" He flipped the pages in her file and saw that she'd missed her annual check-up last year.
"I don't seem to be sleeping properly," Chrissy said quietly. "Wanda-Sue says I've been screaming out, yelling, and disturbing her sleep long enough. She insisted I come to you and get some sleeping pills."
"That's quite a drastic step for a fifteen year old girl, sleeping pills I mean. I have to say, I don't think pills are the right answer; we need to find out why you're not sleeping well. How long has this been going on?"
"I'm not sure exactly, but it's been a while. Maybe a month. I've been having bad dreams, nightmares I suppose they are. I don't know why I'm having them, but I'd love to have just one dreamless night Dr Booker, I don't like this at all, I don't like the way I'm feeling. I don't like me anymore!" Chrissy burst into tears.
Dr Booker handed her a box of tissues and stepped out to the reception area, where he asked Millie to please send his next few patients in to see Dr Stephens instead. He had a crisis going on and needed more time with Chrissy.
Coming back into the room, he saw that Chrissy had stopped crying and handed her a damp towel to wipe her face with.
"Let's start with a general check-up," he said. Hop onto the scales for me, we'll see how much weight you've lost, you're looking very thin."
"I haven't been eating much," Chrissy admitted. "Wanda-Sue has decided we should be eating southern style foods like grits and pork and beans, stuff she grew up on. I don't like any of it much and she doesn't allow me to snack between meals. It's been months since I had any cookies or cake. I'm practically desperate for a bag of hot salty fries!"
"Wanda-Sue is your step-mother I recall, how long has she been married to your Dad now?"
"Two years and a couple of months," Chrissy said. "I liked her at first, but then she started changing rules and cooking different things; Dad seems happy though, so I haven't wanted to bother him with my problem. He's away a lot now anyway, flying off everywhere, sorting out things with each new office that opens up."
Dr Booker looked thoughtful, here was possibly at least one cause of Chrissy's troubles.
"Let's take a little blood sample," he said. "We'll send it to the lab and make sure your iron levels are okay, since you look so pale, then I'm going to send you to see another doctor, she's in this same building, up on the next floor. Her name is Carla Moss, she's a specialist in sleep disorders and I think she can help you far better than a prescription for pills. I'll have Millie call her and send you straight up today. Right now, since you're already here, okay?"
A half hour later, Dr Moss called Chrissy into her office. “Hello Chrissy, I’m Dr Moss, I hear you’re not sleeping well. Can you tell me anything about that? Are you having dreams that you can remember enough to talk about them?”
‘Yes,” said Chrissy. “I remember all of them and I wish they would stop. In them I’m always being chased and I’m sweaty and terrified.”
“Can you tell me just a little bit about this week’s dreams?” asked Dr Moss.
“Well,” Chrissy began, “ there was the one where I was riding my bike along the boulevard, going faster and faster, trying to get away from the shadow that was chasing me. It was shaped like the avenging angel I’ve seen in museum paintings. In another one I’m running along the beach, on the hard sand near the water and I’m being chased by Ali Baba and his forty thieves, all on horses and brandishing swords like they want to cut my head off or something. In the one just last night, I was eating a lot of foods that I haven’t been allowed to eat lately, hot salty chips and creamy cheesecake and a nasty voice was just over my shoulder saying I was being a glutton and making an exhibit of myself, so I ran away from the voice and all the foods grew legs and chased me.”
At this point Chrissy began crying again and Dr Moss handed her the box of tissues from her desk, while she continued to make notes.
When Chrissy stopped crying, she spoke up, saying, “these are some very interesting dreams. I have an idea how I can help you. We certainly need to get to the bottom of this and restore you to optimum health again. Would you be interested in spending a night or two at the sleep clinic? Would your parents give permission?”