|Love By A Thread (standard:romance, 1325 words)|
|Author: Cyrano||Added: Feb 08 2012||Views/Reads: 1404/684||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A romantic comedy. Lois Reynolds finds herself in a strange place, in a strange country, and with strangers everywhere... This is the first draft of the opening chapter of Love By A Thread|
She opens her eyes a fraction, blinking first against the brightness, becoming acutely aware of the smells of ammonia or disinfectant and the crispy clean feel of sheets. She closes her eyes again, as if doing so will let her escape from what she knows, from what is real, but the clanking of the trolley approaching keeps her half alert, and feeling pain. “ 'Ere you go, Lois, a nice poached egg for you.” It's the last thing she wants to hear, not the poached egg information, but the overly cheery voice and she cowers under the sheet, pulling it tighter to her chin. “How about I just leave it beside the bed?” He says, fingernail preening. “I didn't order poached egg,” is the reply from under the sheet. “Yes luv, see, ‘ere's the docket, you ticked poached egg alright.” He holds its flimsiness toward her. She remembers that England seemingly offers poached eggs for breakfast, lunch and dinner. “I'm not your love and I did not tick poached egg.” The orderly, not quite tall and not quite fat, in his white smock, appears unoffended. “They never are, luv. I prefer my admirers' a little less clean shaven! You understand? How will ducks work for you? Mummy calls me ducks all the time. But do eat your poached egg. Quite honestly, luv... sorry, I mean ducks, you'll be better with it inside you than nothing at all. “I can afford a real breakfast.” “What's that darlin',” he asks, quite unaffected by her American attitude. “Bless you, darlin', but you're in hospital in England, remember, you don't have to pay.” The orderly pushes the breakfast trolley clanking, wheel wobbling trolley across the hard floor. “Mornin' Gladdys, ‘ere's your sausage, bacon and eggs, princess. It'll be free this morning my girl.” Gladdys pushes herself upright with frail, skinny, bold veined arms. “You're too good to me, Nigel.” “Not at all, princess, I want you out of ‘ere so we can go on that date. Remember?” Gladdys giggles. “I'll be telling my hubby about you, Nigel.” His hand quaffs the air in front of his face. “I don't think your lad will be too concerned about me Gladdys!” And his laughter was light and airy fairy. Lois's snort of dissatisfaction is heard across the ward. “Was you wanting something else, luv?” Nigel asks, turning his head and peering over his glasses. “Why does she get a good breakfast and I get poached egg?” “That's all you ticked, luv. Gladdys ‘ere ticked everything except poached egg. Right Gladdys.” “Got to keep my strength up for you, Nigel.” She responds, and coughs violently. “Steady you go, Gladdys, we didn't get you through this treatment only to die in a fit of coughing now, did we?” Click here to read the rest of this story (117 more lines)
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