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Recently I’ve been criticized for not writing any ‘literature’ (superimpose your own best British accent on ‘lit-er-a-ture’). Truthfully, this hurts a little. To think that the hundreds of stories I’ve written don’t pass the sniff test… well, it just hurts, know what I mean? So, I’ve decided to change my approach to writing.
From this day forward, all my scenes will be set in dramatic locales, embroidered with characters who literally reek with the intensity of sociopolitical importance! I promise to solve all of life’s problems with my words, providing the moral compass so lacking in today’s barren world. All ye wanderers, take heart, for the light of understanding is not far fleeting from our step… if you’ll but walk with me, the future is ours! To wit:
“Are There Any “T”'s?“
“Dr. Abercrombie, wake up, sir…”
Rutherford Whitbread Abercrombie slept at his desk, oblivious to her voice. The jungle heat and humidity had once again overcome him, though it was barely mid-evening. Nurse’s Aide Bomidgie Hatamagunda lovingly slid her ham hock-like hand under the doctor’s face, lifting it from the desk, while the other hand gently patted his cheek.
“Please wake up, Doctor… it’s time for the Wheel of Fortune television program… you know how unpleasant you become when you miss an episode. The wonderful Mr. Pat Sajak and the lovely Miss Vanna White are in Las Vegas this week, Doctor…”
When it became apparent the rotund physician wasn’t responding, Miss Hatamagunda picked up the ewer of wine coolers situated next to the doctor’s cup and poured it over his head. Once again, in the absence of any movement, she assessed the situation and contemplated her next action. The many first aid courses the doctor had taught her were still hazy in her mind, despite her best intentions to retain them. What would he do in such an emergency? What was it he’d done when they’d pulled Kalula Behatra, unconscious, from the watering trough?
Quickly, in recognition of her memory, she picked up the telephone, punched a few buttons and spoke, her arms flailing in animation.
The walk from the desk to the couch was barely a dozen steps, yet Bomidgie Hatamagunda gasped for air as she sat down. Some days, she just didn’t think she was cut out to be a Nurse’s Aide. She’d barely had time to click the button on the TV remote when the uniformed orderlies ran in. Her raised finger pointed at the doctor, guiding them to him.
Feverishly, the pair worked, moving the doctor to the floor and performing CPR.
Bomidgie Hatamagunda could hear dull thumps in the background. Then… nothing except the sound of equipment being rolled across the tiled floor. Two muted voices alternately gave instructions until she heard “Kwarlik!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dr. Abercrombie’s body jump as the current passed through him. More voices… and yet another thud as he came to rest once again.
On the screen, Pat Sajak gave the wheel a spin, informing the audience and participants that consonants were now worth $700 and vowels (of course) were worth nothing. Yes, just like poor Dr. Abercrombie’s chances, Bomidgie Hatamagunda supposed. Now, who would pay for the cable? Tonight, in a field hospital in Naganda, a certain Nurse’s Aide wished she hadn’t wasted those tasty wine coolers on the good doctor.
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