Post by Solka on Jul 1, 2008 22:13:50 GMT -5
Excerpt of my story, Sleeping Toxins. Main character: Ginger Worthington.
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Everyone spends their life wishing they were someone or something they’re not. Sometimes people, after a certain time, realize they’re better off not even trying to change themselves. Though others, like eight-year old Ginger Worthington, didn’t even know what “being” or “living” is. Even so, Ginger spent hours, days, weeks pondering if people were worthy of living and worthy of being. How could she wonder things she didn’t know a thing about? She wondered these things too.
When Ginger was young, or younger as it were, her mother passed away from lung cancer. Her husband, Ginger’s father, had always warned her of the consequences of smoking. Ginger knew it must be dangerous because a lot of the times, her mother Linda used to smoke around her. She didn’t like the smell or the asphyxiation the smoke in her nostrils caused. She hated it, and every time she saw her mother reach for a cigarette, she would politely excuse herself out of the room.
George, the father, used to pace outside Linda’s hospital room, worried sick about the eventual outcome of this turn-about of events. What led her to the hospital room was an unexpected collapse. She was standing in the kitchen, speaking normally to him, when suddenly, she fell on the ground unconscious. Until then, they were a happily married couple, even though, of course, they often had their disagreements which would lead to fights Ginger didn’t care for. Once, George had gotten into a bit of a feud with a nurse at the hospital. Said nurse was attending to Linda. It was her who broke the tragic news to both father and daughter alike.
“Mr. Worthington?”, she approached him with a sad smile on her face. “Hello. I’m not sure what the best way of saying this is and I wish I didn’t have to tell you at all, but someone must. I’m sorry, but your wife has lung cancer. It’s in a terminal state. I’m very, very sorry.” As she said this, she held her note board against her breast, gripping its sides tightly. All George felt at the time was anger, disgust and disbelief. “This can’t be happening…” He said, as he rubbed his temple. “So, how… how long does she, er, have?” He said, awkwardly. The nurse replied with a simple “A month or two. I’m sorry. I realize that your suffering must be terrib—“
“Oh, you do, do you?” George said, his tone rising. Ginger was sitting in a corner, combing her doll’s hair. She looked up at him and winced, cowering away from what she knew was coming. “How can you possibly realize my suffering’s level, huh? Explain that to me, Miss…” he looked at her nametag, “…Miss Thompson. How could you possibly know what my suffering is like? My wife is bed-ridden, she’s going to die soon and I have to take care of my baby girl all alone. We have no family left, and no friends. We are very short on money, and even hospitalizing Linda here is a squeeze on our wallets. How can you know?”
The nurse looked up at him, her lips thin and her eyes full of hurt. “I know and I realize your suffering’s measure because I once had to choose between sending my husband or my teenage son to the chair. They had both been involved in some kind of mass murder, or what was it. As I stood there, having to choose between the two people I treasured the most, my life flashed before my eyes. You know how they say that happens when you’re about to die? I wasn’t, but it sure as hell felt like it. I remembered all the good times me and my husband had had with my son. I remembered the vacations and I remembered everything up until that point. In the end, I sent both of them to their deaths, and you know why?” She paused. George was dumbstruck. He didn’t say a word, just stuttered mindlessly, “Because I couldn’t live with either of them, knowing I sent the other to die. Knowing I’d have to live with the fact that I killed one of them just to save the other. So, excuse me, Mr. Worthington, but don’t come telling me how I don’t know what your suffering is like.” She walked away, leaving him standing there, staring off into the distance. He fell to the floor on his knees, hugging himself, rocking himself back and forth, trying desperately not to sob in front of his girl, but emotions were stronger than he was.
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Everyone spends their life wishing they were someone or something they’re not. Sometimes people, after a certain time, realize they’re better off not even trying to change themselves. Though others, like eight-year old Ginger Worthington, didn’t even know what “being” or “living” is. Even so, Ginger spent hours, days, weeks pondering if people were worthy of living and worthy of being. How could she wonder things she didn’t know a thing about? She wondered these things too.
When Ginger was young, or younger as it were, her mother passed away from lung cancer. Her husband, Ginger’s father, had always warned her of the consequences of smoking. Ginger knew it must be dangerous because a lot of the times, her mother Linda used to smoke around her. She didn’t like the smell or the asphyxiation the smoke in her nostrils caused. She hated it, and every time she saw her mother reach for a cigarette, she would politely excuse herself out of the room.
George, the father, used to pace outside Linda’s hospital room, worried sick about the eventual outcome of this turn-about of events. What led her to the hospital room was an unexpected collapse. She was standing in the kitchen, speaking normally to him, when suddenly, she fell on the ground unconscious. Until then, they were a happily married couple, even though, of course, they often had their disagreements which would lead to fights Ginger didn’t care for. Once, George had gotten into a bit of a feud with a nurse at the hospital. Said nurse was attending to Linda. It was her who broke the tragic news to both father and daughter alike.
“Mr. Worthington?”, she approached him with a sad smile on her face. “Hello. I’m not sure what the best way of saying this is and I wish I didn’t have to tell you at all, but someone must. I’m sorry, but your wife has lung cancer. It’s in a terminal state. I’m very, very sorry.” As she said this, she held her note board against her breast, gripping its sides tightly. All George felt at the time was anger, disgust and disbelief. “This can’t be happening…” He said, as he rubbed his temple. “So, how… how long does she, er, have?” He said, awkwardly. The nurse replied with a simple “A month or two. I’m sorry. I realize that your suffering must be terrib—“
“Oh, you do, do you?” George said, his tone rising. Ginger was sitting in a corner, combing her doll’s hair. She looked up at him and winced, cowering away from what she knew was coming. “How can you possibly realize my suffering’s level, huh? Explain that to me, Miss…” he looked at her nametag, “…Miss Thompson. How could you possibly know what my suffering is like? My wife is bed-ridden, she’s going to die soon and I have to take care of my baby girl all alone. We have no family left, and no friends. We are very short on money, and even hospitalizing Linda here is a squeeze on our wallets. How can you know?”
The nurse looked up at him, her lips thin and her eyes full of hurt. “I know and I realize your suffering’s measure because I once had to choose between sending my husband or my teenage son to the chair. They had both been involved in some kind of mass murder, or what was it. As I stood there, having to choose between the two people I treasured the most, my life flashed before my eyes. You know how they say that happens when you’re about to die? I wasn’t, but it sure as hell felt like it. I remembered all the good times me and my husband had had with my son. I remembered the vacations and I remembered everything up until that point. In the end, I sent both of them to their deaths, and you know why?” She paused. George was dumbstruck. He didn’t say a word, just stuttered mindlessly, “Because I couldn’t live with either of them, knowing I sent the other to die. Knowing I’d have to live with the fact that I killed one of them just to save the other. So, excuse me, Mr. Worthington, but don’t come telling me how I don’t know what your suffering is like.” She walked away, leaving him standing there, staring off into the distance. He fell to the floor on his knees, hugging himself, rocking himself back and forth, trying desperately not to sob in front of his girl, but emotions were stronger than he was.