I really liked your entry for the East Wallingford Gazette Valentine's Day edition! Edna and Clarence are quite the couple (and I feel that the paper shall have to explore Valentino's Day as well!) and I did like how the article ended. Excellent reporting!
Overgrown One of the PreTenders was called Maureen as it happened, and from her voice she sounded utterly charming. Despite rubbing my eyes and wishing, my eyesight did not return so that I could see her, and whatever drops the AP put into them later on that day also did not restore my vision. He did mutter approvingly though. "What?" I said, because I'd not been listening to him and had been worrying about my legs again. "I said your eyes are a beautiful topaz colour," he said. "Were they always like that?" "No," I said quickly. "They've been green my whole life." "How odd," said the AP. He sounded worried for the first time since I'd been put in this hospital. "I shall have to check on side-eff-- other patients now. You've taken up quite too much of my time already, young ma--, uh, woma--, ah, person. Person. Quite." I did ask more questions after that but I surmised from the silence that greeted them that either the AP had left or had decided to remain silent in the hopes that I would think he had left. I patted the bed again, but if I was touching my legs I couldn't feel them. And I thought I still had legs, though I was increasingly worried that the staff here found it necessary to count them. I mean, how hard can it be to count to two? "You're awake," said a voice I recognized as Sister Emily. "That's nice, did you sleep well?" "I've been awake for hours," I replied, feeling puzzled. I scrunched up my face and put my hands up to feel the furrows on my brow. I hadn't realised what lacking eyesight would do to the way I worried about my appearance. "What time is it?" "Time you were waking up," said Sister Emily as though that helped anything. It didn't. "Did you dream you were awake then?" "I was awake," I said. "The AP was here, he talked about my eyes." "They're a beautiful colour," said Sister Emily and sighed. "Rare too, I should think." "Green?" I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. Eyes are not topaz naturally, so I'd decided that the AP was colour-blind. "They're not gr-- um, they're not, not grisly," said Sister Emily. She sounded near panic. "Green, you say? Were they green for long?" "All my life," I said. A cold sweat sprang out on my arms and I shivered. "What's wrong with me, exactly? Apart from the traumatic blindness." "Ah," said Sister Emily. "Well, there's that. And your leg seem to have overgrown a bit, of course."
2 comments:
I really liked your entry for the East Wallingford Gazette Valentine's Day edition! Edna and Clarence are quite the couple (and I feel that the paper shall have to explore Valentino's Day as well!) and I did like how the article ended. Excellent reporting!
Overgrown
One of the PreTenders was called Maureen as it happened, and from her voice she sounded utterly charming. Despite rubbing my eyes and wishing, my eyesight did not return so that I could see her, and whatever drops the AP put into them later on that day also did not restore my vision. He did mutter approvingly though.
"What?" I said, because I'd not been listening to him and had been worrying about my legs again.
"I said your eyes are a beautiful topaz colour," he said. "Were they always like that?"
"No," I said quickly. "They've been green my whole life."
"How odd," said the AP. He sounded worried for the first time since I'd been put in this hospital. "I shall have to check on side-eff-- other patients now. You've taken up quite too much of my time already, young ma--, uh, woma--, ah, person. Person. Quite."
I did ask more questions after that but I surmised from the silence that greeted them that either the AP had left or had decided to remain silent in the hopes that I would think he had left. I patted the bed again, but if I was touching my legs I couldn't feel them. And I thought I still had legs, though I was increasingly worried that the staff here found it necessary to count them. I mean, how hard can it be to count to two?
"You're awake," said a voice I recognized as Sister Emily. "That's nice, did you sleep well?"
"I've been awake for hours," I replied, feeling puzzled. I scrunched up my face and put my hands up to feel the furrows on my brow. I hadn't realised what lacking eyesight would do to the way I worried about my appearance. "What time is it?"
"Time you were waking up," said Sister Emily as though that helped anything. It didn't. "Did you dream you were awake then?"
"I was awake," I said. "The AP was here, he talked about my eyes."
"They're a beautiful colour," said Sister Emily and sighed. "Rare too, I should think."
"Green?" I said, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. Eyes are not topaz naturally, so I'd decided that the AP was colour-blind.
"They're not gr-- um, they're not, not grisly," said Sister Emily. She sounded near panic. "Green, you say? Were they green for long?"
"All my life," I said. A cold sweat sprang out on my arms and I shivered. "What's wrong with me, exactly? Apart from the traumatic blindness."
"Ah," said Sister Emily. "Well, there's that. And your leg seem to have overgrown a bit, of course."
Greg - thanks, glad you liked it! I had fun writing it :)
Ugh. This is, somehow, only getting worse for your narrator.
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