Wednesday's Words on a Friday

 

The original Words for Wednesday was begun by Delores and eventually taken over by a moveable feast of participants when Delores had computer troubles. Sadly, Delores has now closed her blog forever due to other problems.

The aim of the words is to encourage us to write. A story, a poem, whatever comes to mind.

If you are posting an entry on your own blog, please let us know so we can come along to read it and add a few encouraging words.

This month the words/prompts are supplied by David M. Gascoigne and can be found here

This week's words/prompts are: 

1. happen 

2. truck 

3. hollow. 

4. daffy

5. tired 

6. joke 

and/or: 

1. relationship 

2. nature 

3. true 

4. home 

5. aphorism 

6. dragged

Here is my totally fictional story:

I woke with a start and had no idea where I was, or even who I was. After a few seconds I realized it was a hospital, the biggest clue being the narrow bed with rails either side and the handcuffs holding me there. The beeping machine to my left must have alerted someone because a nurse came in and checked my pulse. 

“You’re finally awake,” she said. “I’ll get the doctor.” I looked around as much as I was able with my neck being so stiff, I could feel a brace holding it steady, was I injured? I felt no pain. The doctor arrived and with him, a police officer, who waited impatiently as the doctor examined me, the drips and the machines. 

The first question came. “Do you know your name and where you are?” I tried to answer but my tongue felt far too thick for my mouth and all I could do was gape soundlessly like a fish out of water. The doctor patted my hand and told me not to worry, it looked like I was improving and he would have the nurse bring me some ice chips which should help. The police officer became annoyed at not being able to question me. “It’s been four days Doc!” to which the doctor replied, “it takes as long as it takes Vic, there’s nothing to do but keep waiting. At least he’s had one awakening, there’ll be more. I’ll be back in the morning.” 

This exchange confirmed my thoughts that it must be late at night, with the hospital being so quiet and the window so dark. I drifted back to sleep. When I woke again, it was to a vicious headache and nausea. The nurse saw the pain in my eyes and checked the chart written the night before then adding something to the tube flowing into my handcuffed arm. The relief was almost immediate. She held a cup with ice chips to my lips and I gratefully sucked in a few to let them melt. I listened to the sounds of a hospital coming awake, footsteps, call bells, a trolley with rattling dishes probably carrying breakfast to the lucky ones. 

I knew I had been here four days, (thanks “Vic”), but the time before that was blank. All I knew was I had been on my way home. I was assured the doctor began his rounds at 9am, so would see me shortly. It seemed far too long to me, I had as many questions as Vic. Some of the blanks were filled in soon enough. 

Vic came back with the doctor and told me the little he knew, hoping I could remember more. Mr Weston had driven past Cooper’s Hollow and saw my truck’s tail end sticking up out of the creek bed. It looked pretty wrecked, so he called the police and a tow truck and they were very surprised to find me still alive when they dragged it up onto the bank. Apparently the damage to the truck indicated it had been braked hard and fast, skidded, then rolled several times  before landing in the creek. 

After telling me all this, Vic stared at me. Hard. Clearly I was now supposed to fill in the gaps of the story. He held out my wallet with drivers licence declaring me to be Daniel Montana Sellers, age thirty-three. “Any relationship to Monica Sellers?” he asked. “My wife,” I managed to croak out. “That’s good,” he said, “your memory seems to be fine. So far anyway.” He held the cup, allowing me a few more ice chips. “What else can you tell me?” he asked. “Why am I handcuffed?” I asked him. “We weren’t sure if you were who your licence says, or if you were that truck thieving criminal we’ve been looking for. He could have stolen your wallet.” I grunted as I thought. 

The newspaper stories came back to me. An escaped prisoner who stole a different truck from each town, making it harder to track him. Vic asked, “how did you happen to be on Creek Road? Your home is further west.” “It’s a shortcut,” I said. “Leave the highway at Bonner’s Farm Barn, cut along Creek Road then back to the highway after the Gas Station. It takes a half hour off the drive. If you were from around here you’d know that. Where are you from?” “Boss sent me down from Williamstown, said I could use the experience.” “Over near the border,” I said. “That’s right,” said Vic, “and being here sure is an experience, I’ll tell you that. Everywhere you go, people are nodding and smiling, asking how you doing today Officer?”

 I managed a smile at that. City folks often felt discombobulated at small town niceness. He smiled back. “I’m not sure I could live too long with all this nature around,” he said. “Give me a noisy city with a coffee shop on every block, that suits me just fine.” “Try the coffee at Irene’s Ice Creamery,” I suggested. “Best coffee for miles and donuts too if you want.” “So what else do you remember about rolling your truck?” coming back to the original questioning. “There was something odd. You might think I’m making a joke and I don’t know if my memory is playing tricks on me.” “Go on,” Vic said. “I was tired,” I said, “but I knew I was close to home and the road was quiet. I yawned and when I blinked something jumped out from the bushes just past the picnic spot. Looked like a huge Daffy Duck, you know the cartoon character? Anyway, I slammed on the brakes and then I woke up here. Has anyone told Monica? Has she been here looking for me?” 

“She was here for the first day,” said Vic, “then she went into labour and moved up to Maternity. Your son is doing just fine.” I grinned as broadly as I could at the news. Vic told me my story appeared to be true, as they had found a torn Daffy Duck costume and trails of blood along the creek edge. It seemed the escaped criminal had tried to disguise himself with a Halloween costume, my truck had rolled on him and dragged him down into the creek, where he discarded the costume and tried to keep going. “We captured him, thanks to you,” said Vic, undoing my handcuff “He’s a couple of rooms over, looking about as bruised as you feel.” The nurse came in and asked if I was feeling well enough for another visitor. Another nurse behind her wheeled in a chair with Monica, holding our new son.