I've been writing a ton of really depressing stuff lately, and it hasn't been helping my actual mood, so I'm gonna write a happy one. Or at least try.
Now that I think about it, sadness must be one of the easiest emotions to portray in writing. Maybe it's because it's so easy to sympathize. I don't know. But all my favorite books not only contain that cheap bonding experience, but I also share in the character's joys too. You know the feeling, when you're so happy for a charrie that you think you might explode. The butterflies in your stomach. Bubbly happiness welling up inside you. It just feels sparkly.
Well, over the next few posts I'll be aiming at that. Don't expect perfection at first (even from me ;) ), but do post a comment and say what you think.
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Writing Prompt #6: Waking up in a Hospital
The first thing I noticed was the smell. My eyes were still shut tight against the morning light streaming through the window, but the absence of this sense enhanced the remaining ones. It made the stench all the more notable.
I awakened another degree as my next sense kicked in. Someone was bustling about the room, humming under her breath. She brought another scent with her: bleach. It burned in the back of my throat, and that feeling sensation brought the uncomfortable position of my neck to my attention.
The possibility of sleep was passed, and I cracked my eyes open gradually, taking in the alien room slowly.
I was seated on a piece of metal that must be a chair in a room already teaming with life. My eyes must have remained in that unflattering half open state, because I don't recall opening or closing them. My attention was racing back to the night before.
I remembered a phone call. Yes...that was it. Jane had called. I remember the fleeting fear that the baby was already born, and that she was calling to announce it. She was calling to announce it, but not in that way.
"Becca, the baby's coming. Bill's on his way, but the baby's not going to wait."
Fifteen minutes later I had been parked outside the hospital, watching Jane wheeled into the maternity ward.
I returned to reality. The rest had been filled merely with waiting and comforting Bill, who had been banished to the lobby, too.
"Can I see Jane Wilson?" I asked the receptionist.
"Are you family?"
"Well, you see..."
Luckily I was spared from the attempted explanation by Bill's entrance.
"Becca! I was just coming to find you! You haven't seen Jerome yet. Why didn't you come in sooner?" He led me through several identical corridors, his sleep deprived eyes glowing with excitment.
Jane smiled as we entered and approached the bed. The baby was sleeping serenely in her arms, his little breaths intensifying the silence.
"Jerome Anthony Wilson, meet your godmother."
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So. Yes. Ahem.
So long, farewell, stay warm and well fed.
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