Hello readers!
Firstly, I must apologise for not putting it up yesterday. It was honestly idiotic of me. I don't think I forgot it. I just kept putting it off until the moment I fell to sleep and remember again that I had to post this. I'm sorry!
Also, this is another one of my baked in irony stories, which isn't altogether ironic, but just a experiment almost, trying to write down a persons thought process in a danger. I've done it before, but not like this. This is a different kind of thought process. I really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Again, I'm sorry for putting it up too late! :-)
“Argh”
He groaned as he painfully tried to sit up on the bed.
Slowly, agonizingly, and accompanied by a series of groaning and moaning, he
edged himself up into a sitting position on the bed.
The white silence that one often hears, or rather doesn’t
hear, in a hospital hovered like a fog over the room, the beeping of a machine
near his bed the only thing to pierce it, once every ten seconds.
The colours of a TV screen threw themselves around the room,
shining on every surface, flickering, changing colours. It was on mute,
thankfully, or the cheesy jingles of product advertisements would have easily
drowned out that almost eerie, almost peaceful silence afore mentioned.
Well, now he’d had enough of the bright colours of the TV
too, now. He needed to turn it off, and right now too. Where was that button
they said he could use to summon the nurses. He looked around.
Ah, there it was, just on the edge of bed-side table. He
reached for it.
And again.
And again, this time
with all his effort.
Ah, yes. He grasped it!
Too soon, too soon. As he tried to get a hold of it, the
slippery plastic slipped off his finger tips and fell off the table. He swore
under his breath.
He looked around for the wire.
Ah, even that bloody thing was tangled behind the table.
He’d just have to do it himself.
The handle attached
to wall on which the saline bottle hung could offer something to grab on to.
There was something written on it, but never mind. He reached for it, and with
a bit more groaning, he pulled himself further up the bed, far enough now that
his legs could push off the bed.
Something a nurse said flashed into his mind,
“Don’t get off the bed, no matter what. It’s not good for
the saline tube attached to you, nor your fatigued body. Don’t get off, just
call us if you need help.”
Well, so much for that. He dismissed it, and slowly,
delicately tried to edge his way off the bed. He put more of his weight on the handle.
It creaked under his weight. It would hold up, surely.
He cursed the attendants. They’d cleaned up the room, and
now they’d put the remote up on the table under the TV. Blithering idiots.
But then again, it was his own stupid self that had dropped
the remote that called the nurse. It was just the fault of the situation. How
many did this kind of this happen anyway? Bad, bad times. He muttered curses at
everything. The bike, for falling over. The car for breaking his arm. The
driver for running over him. Himself for standing on the road. He was almost
shaking with anger at the very fabric of the earth. Too many faults. Too many
causers.
He was losing track of his motives now. He dispelled the
anger, and set about trying to do what he meant to do now. To pick up the
bloody remote. No, no, don’t curse! Stay calm you stupid man!
Ah, stop it. Calm down.
He did a short relaxation activity, breathing in, breathing
out, one minute, like the physiatrist used to say.
Now, the task at hand.
He put his legs down onto the floor. Pins and needles.
He sat still for a minute, and the feeling wore off.
He slowly concentrated on working his legs, and that meant
putting more of his weight on the handle. It groaned, bent a little, but still
held up.
The next step in his task involved a quick action. Put all
of his weight immediately on the handle, and then get up properly and transfer
all the weight fully onto his legs, and then, finally, he would be standing for
the first time in a week.
And now. He commenced. He grabbed the handle firmly, he
pulled down on it. Again, he wondered if it was as strong as he would want.
Well, it was now or never. He dispelled the though again.
He pulled down more firmly, putting all his body weight on
the handle. His legs unbent. His body started standing, but…
Nothing is ever so smooth.
As he put more of his weight the handle creaked, groaned,
but as he was in the middle of the task of putting his legs down, he didn’t
hear it. It was a bad, bad time, to be true. Too true.
The handle bend forward, the screws attaching it to the wall
losing grip, and its connection to the wall broke. The handle was no longer his
support. Actually, this time he was
the handle’s support.
You, the reader, have already foreseen the happenings.
The handle broke, the support it gave disappeared. This all
happened in the space of seconds. Too quick for his brain to process. The
reaction time was too slow, the handle pulled down with him, and down he went.
The sudden, crashing sound echoed throughout the ward,
making its way to the nurse’s room. But too late.
The handle was connected to another plastic panel that ran
over his bed. The last few screws that connected the handle hadn’t properly
dislodged. And they weren’t going to either. They pulled down that plastic
panel with them. The panel was attached to the wall with only glue and the
weight of a man was enough to pull it apart. Down it came too.
All hell was breaking loose. And all on top of him.
He grimaced and swore as the floor came rushing up to meet
him, and instinct made him turn his head sideways. The plastic panelling and
the plastic panel with its bottles and wires toppled over onto his back, making
an already badly hurt back even worse.
He lost consciousness.
And that scene was what the screaming nurses and attendants
came running to witness.
But what he failed to see, on to the left, clearly marked, and
in big chunky size lay the remote to call the nurse.
The one he dropped was the remote for the bed.
The End
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And finally, check out our previous articles, the links given below:
You might enjoy our series of Poems Concentrated:
Check my stories:
Crash, a short story: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/crash-short-story.html
1:49, a horror story: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/0149-pm.html
Engrossing. a twisted short tale of irony: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/08/engrossing.html
Sorry..., another Baked in Irony story: http://interestconcentrated.blogspot.co.uk/2015/09/sorry.html
Check out Rayhaan's stories:
Or just check out everything in the order they came out in by clicking this:
Thanks for reading!
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