Believe it or not, Nuno loved his wife. But he loved his kneecaps more. He’d miss her when she was gone. Honest to God. But the piper was due. This was the only way. Off the curb she went.
The intensive care machines whirred and blooped. “She’s not really alive, no. But not dead, technically. Be strong, I had a patient out like a light for three years who snapped to life one day right as rain.”
Nuno dropped the crumpled life insurance papers in the bin by the hospital exit. He knew his demise would be in better hands.
Thank you for the shout out! Inspiration comes from many sources. I feel honoured to provide the impetus for your story!
A Remembered Coma
Wayne was separating the coma of burdock seeds into individual piles. His frustration with the clinging seeds made him more miserable in the unbearable heat. It didn’t help that his employer gave no explanation for the onerous task. As the afternoon passed Wayne wasn’t sure if he was separating burdock seeds. From memory, he remembered that burdock and belladonna night shade were similar in look and texture.
Suddenly Wayne keeled over.
“Here, drink this,” instructed his employer as Wayne opened his eyes.
“What is it ?” he groggily asked.
“Burdock tea,” was the reply, as Wayne performed a classic spit take.
Thank you so much for the mention here, Caro! Oooh…I’m going to dive in either tonight or tomorrow. I’ll post it over at Along the Hudson soon and tag you!
She was his dream girl, kind and good to him. Other women said he was too short, plain, or bald. Or not rich enough. All of these and more were the instant appraisals that women made by his first sentence. But at night, he connected with his soul mate. Never mind that it was a visit from the right side of his brain. Never mind that it was selective filtering of his corpus callosum that allowed only curated information exchange. He was happy, for tonight they would move in together. In his self-imprisoned coma, he would wither and die happy.
This is a great 100-word story, Gerard! You beautifully balanced romance, self-discovery, and the line between reality and dreams. I can’t wait to see more of your work!
Thanks, so much, for your kind words. I have lots of content in the can, already, for you if you're so inclined. I pretty much post every day. Thanks again. Much appreciated. I visited your home page and find that you have some guest posts. What a great idea! Feel free to put anything from me on there--you don't even have to ask. I'd be honored. Gerard
I think having guest authors is such a fun way to introduce new voices to my readers! It gives readers a chance to explore fresh stories and different writing styles. Your unique perspective would be an amazing addition to my Substack, and I’d absolutely love to share your work with my Substack community!
My new friend lays in the dark green grass. Her body is outlined by poppies. They are little red balloons.
Yesterday she didn’t want me. She sat in our classroom at morning golden hour, backpack in her lap, explaining to me, slowly, that the rain was her friend. The daisies were her friends. The grass was her bed, and there was no room for me in her meadow.
So I watch from afar, on another hillside. The morning sun brings me vitamins and the shade of a tree cradles my shadow. I watch the poppies choose you again and again.
I love, 'I watch the poppies choose you again and again.' That last line is so powerful! You really captured the feelings of longing and helplessness that come with unrequited love. Beautifully done, Ally!
Claim Pending
Believe it or not, Nuno loved his wife. But he loved his kneecaps more. He’d miss her when she was gone. Honest to God. But the piper was due. This was the only way. Off the curb she went.
The intensive care machines whirred and blooped. “She’s not really alive, no. But not dead, technically. Be strong, I had a patient out like a light for three years who snapped to life one day right as rain.”
Nuno dropped the crumpled life insurance papers in the bin by the hospital exit. He knew his demise would be in better hands.
Wow! You managed to pack a lot in this one, Scott! This was a haunting read that stayed with me.
Thanks, this is such a great and tricky prompt!
Thank you for the shout out! Inspiration comes from many sources. I feel honoured to provide the impetus for your story!
A Remembered Coma
Wayne was separating the coma of burdock seeds into individual piles. His frustration with the clinging seeds made him more miserable in the unbearable heat. It didn’t help that his employer gave no explanation for the onerous task. As the afternoon passed Wayne wasn’t sure if he was separating burdock seeds. From memory, he remembered that burdock and belladonna night shade were similar in look and texture.
Suddenly Wayne keeled over.
“Here, drink this,” instructed his employer as Wayne opened his eyes.
“What is it ?” he groggily asked.
“Burdock tea,” was the reply, as Wayne performed a classic spit take.
Very nicely done, Bill! You are so good at blending humor and heartbreak in 100 words.
Thank you.
Love the snack coma idea!
Thank you so much for the mention here, Caro! Oooh…I’m going to dive in either tonight or tomorrow. I’ll post it over at Along the Hudson soon and tag you!
I’m looking forward to it, Justin!
100-word story Challenge—Prompt: “Coma”
She was his dream girl, kind and good to him. Other women said he was too short, plain, or bald. Or not rich enough. All of these and more were the instant appraisals that women made by his first sentence. But at night, he connected with his soul mate. Never mind that it was a visit from the right side of his brain. Never mind that it was selective filtering of his corpus callosum that allowed only curated information exchange. He was happy, for tonight they would move in together. In his self-imprisoned coma, he would wither and die happy.
This is a great 100-word story, Gerard! You beautifully balanced romance, self-discovery, and the line between reality and dreams. I can’t wait to see more of your work!
Thanks, so much, for your kind words. I have lots of content in the can, already, for you if you're so inclined. I pretty much post every day. Thanks again. Much appreciated. I visited your home page and find that you have some guest posts. What a great idea! Feel free to put anything from me on there--you don't even have to ask. I'd be honored. Gerard
I think having guest authors is such a fun way to introduce new voices to my readers! It gives readers a chance to explore fresh stories and different writing styles. Your unique perspective would be an amazing addition to my Substack, and I’d absolutely love to share your work with my Substack community!
My New Friend
My new friend lays in the dark green grass. Her body is outlined by poppies. They are little red balloons.
Yesterday she didn’t want me. She sat in our classroom at morning golden hour, backpack in her lap, explaining to me, slowly, that the rain was her friend. The daisies were her friends. The grass was her bed, and there was no room for me in her meadow.
So I watch from afar, on another hillside. The morning sun brings me vitamins and the shade of a tree cradles my shadow. I watch the poppies choose you again and again.
I love, 'I watch the poppies choose you again and again.' That last line is so powerful! You really captured the feelings of longing and helplessness that come with unrequited love. Beautifully done, Ally!
Thanks Caro! I appreciate your thoughts on it.