English 215-The first story of the semester.

I think this is going to be a fun semester. I don't have a lot of experience in writing in the genre of poetry nor script writing so it should be a nice challenge. Those are two of the genres this class covers. The others, fiction and nonfiction, I am slightly more well versed in and look forward to honing my skills in. I'm am most excited for the Drama and Script writing portion of the class. This is something that I hope will come in handy assuming I ever make it into the filming industry.

But never mind all that. Our first assignment of the class aside from reading the intro's to our two books, was writing a diagnostic piece of sorts. This is mine. I started out with the first sentence that seemingly popped into my head at random. I now believe it was destiny. Not the "chosen one" kind of destiny of course but I think don't believe that it was random. The first sentence initially read, "It was the fifth day of this crap." It eventually changed, as did the rest of the piece, "day" being replaced by "week" and then to what it is now changing tenses somewhere in there.

The whole thing isn't very long but it wasn't supposed to be necessarily. Maybe I'll make this a regular thing, posting stories in here. I guess maybe that's cheating since it's something previously written but I think it will encourage me to write more...maybe...

Anyways, without further ado, my short, short story. I hope you enjoy :D

It is now the fifth month of this crap. I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to take it. I mean what kind of a place was this? It was the same thing all day, every day. I woke up, sat around for a while, read or re-read my latest issue of reader’s digest, (I didn’t know you could get magazines in here) go to the cafeteria to eat whatever meal it was time for, go out for my hour in the yard, (an hour and a half if you were lucky) and then back to my impossibly small room. At first I tried to do pushups but then realized that I was horribly out of shape and couldn’t do them, so I would go back and lie on my bed and read the paper, of which, I also had a subscription.

For the most part, the rest of my inmates were nice. There were a few, however, that you just didn’t go near. Those were usually the ones that had been in here longer than the rest. The newbies who tried to talk to them were snarled at. I have made a few friends during my time here. We’d have Chess tournaments or shoot hoops out in the yard. These were the highlights of my stay.

Today I was told I had a visitor. This, I am excited for. I have been brought out into the commons area where some of my inmates are playing chess, and where people on the outside are allowed to visit with those on the inside. I’m sitting at a table, gray like the rest of the room. I glance at the gray clock on the wall and it’s been five whole minutes and finally my visitor arrives. It’s my youngest son.

“Hey Dad,” he says with a smile on his face.

I don’t say anything back but my face lights up and he can tell that his presence has made my day.

“Are they treating you alright in here,” asks my son as he looks around the room. This is the first time he’s been in here. He has been away at college or he would have visited sooner.

I nod.

“How’s the food?”

“Eh,” I reply and hold up my hand, palm level with the table and rock it side to side..

“So-so?”

I nod.

“We’re trying to get you out of here Dad; Mom’s going stir crazy at the house without you. They say your doing well and if you keep it up, they might let you out early.” This is something that I’ve heard from each visitor that I’ve had but it does him good to hear himself say it. And he’s right. I just don’t know how soon that will be.

“Time to go, visiting hours are over.” This is from my guard. His uniform is clean and has been recently pressed. My son gets up, a sad look on his face.

“We’ll get you out of here soon Dad,” He says as he leaves.

My guard follows him out and an almost identical one replaces him. This new one has a silver tray with a bottle of water and a small paper cup.

“Time for your meds Mr. Higgins,” says the new nurse. I stare back with a disgruntled look on my face. But he returns the same glare.

“Come on, Doc says one more week and then he’ll take you off to see how you do.” At this, I cave and take my pills, if only to get me out of here quicker. I hate nursing homes.