Short Story
"...the pain of saying goodbye and moving on."
Write a short story inspired by the above phrase.
Bright lights. Clean walls. Clean floors. Pale uniforms. People rushing back and forth through the corridors. That nauseating smell that lingers in your nostrils for hours after you leave. Blood slipped down the left side of his face, dripping off his chin, slowly forming a tiny puddle between his legs. His hair was a mess, his clothes soaked - ragged in places where the medics had cut them to check him for injuries. He had been cleared, nothing but a few cuts and bruises. He staggered backwards, leaning up against the wall. One sharp breath. Another. Everything faded away, and simultaneously got unbearably brighter; he tried to detach himself from his surroundings. He wasn’t used to this, even with everything he’d been through in his life, he’d never felt this before. Sliding to the floor, he cradled his head in his palms, barely noticing the shudders that swept through his body, he could still smell burnt rubber and asphalt on his clothes. Pieces of shattered glass fell out of his hair. A voice was talking to him, he struggled to take in what the doctor was saying, but it seemed he had lost control of his mind, he was shutting down. Frantically, he searched for a way out, anything that would change what had happened, save him from having to accept what he was faced with. Without even acknowledging the nurse, he accepted the glass of water she held out to him. Gulp. He started to well up; told himself that he had to be strong, she wouldn’t want this, painfully he laughed out a sob as he thought about how she teased him about never crying. A lone tear escaped, wiping away some of the dirt on his face as it made its way down his cheek. “Shit.” “Sorry.” He was instinctively apologetic, even though he knew she wasn’t there; she hated when he swore. Gulp.
The doctor was back, his black name tag stood out over his doctor’s coat. “Dr. Morrison”. This time he spoke a
Write a short story inspired by the above phrase.
Bright lights. Clean walls. Clean floors. Pale uniforms. People rushing back and forth through the corridors. That nauseating smell that lingers in your nostrils for hours after you leave. Blood slipped down the left side of his face, dripping off his chin, slowly forming a tiny puddle between his legs. His hair was a mess, his clothes soaked - ragged in places where the medics had cut them to check him for injuries. He had been cleared, nothing but a few cuts and bruises. He staggered backwards, leaning up against the wall. One sharp breath. Another. Everything faded away, and simultaneously got unbearably brighter; he tried to detach himself from his surroundings. He wasn’t used to this, even with everything he’d been through in his life, he’d never felt this before. Sliding to the floor, he cradled his head in his palms, barely noticing the shudders that swept through his body, he could still smell burnt rubber and asphalt on his clothes. Pieces of shattered glass fell out of his hair. A voice was talking to him, he struggled to take in what the doctor was saying, but it seemed he had lost control of his mind, he was shutting down. Frantically, he searched for a way out, anything that would change what had happened, save him from having to accept what he was faced with. Without even acknowledging the nurse, he accepted the glass of water she held out to him. Gulp. He started to well up; told himself that he had to be strong, she wouldn’t want this, painfully he laughed out a sob as he thought about how she teased him about never crying. A lone tear escaped, wiping away some of the dirt on his face as it made its way down his cheek. “Shit.” “Sorry.” He was instinctively apologetic, even though he knew she wasn’t there; she hated when he swore. Gulp.
The doctor was back, his black name tag stood out over his doctor’s coat. “Dr. Morrison”. This time he spoke a