Contributor: Matt Shaner

- -
I stand at the entrance of the room holding a clipboard with our standard sheet of paper; blank lines and spaces for demographics as if you could narrow down a life to bullet points.
The man is on the stretcher, tubes running from his arms. A younger man leans at his side.
“Matt, is that you?” the man asks.
“It is dad. I’m here.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. Thank god you’re here.”
His wife fills out the paper. Her hand is red around the pen, going white with force.
“I want to go. I can’t take this anymore.”
“I know dad.”
“We had our differences but I love you.”
She keeps writing.
“He wants to go,” she says.
Before I walked in, the nurse told her he would be admitted. His information said he swallowed pills and whiskey. It said he was ranting about returning to Vietnam. The man has a ring of white hair and a white mustache. His voice bellows.
“Help me.”
“They are helping you dad.”
His wife hands me the paper.
“The admission person will be back to talk to you later.” I say this and look at her. She is well dressed.
“Thank you for your help,” she says.
“I can’t do it,” he yells.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her.
“It will be okay dad,” the younger man says.
I walk out of the room, think of their faces, their moment in reality, and wonder do we ever really win?

- - -
I am a writer from outside Reading, PA. I have nineteen stories published online or in print including a novel and novella from Eternal Press. I work part time at a hospital emergency room and full time as a dad and husband while chasing the dream of writing.
Read more »
These icons link to social bookmarking sites where readers can share and discover new web pages.
  • Digg
  • Sphinn
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Mixx
  • Google
  • Furl
  • Reddit
  • Spurl
  • StumbleUpon
  • Technorati

Help keep Linguistic Erosion alive! Visit our sponsors! :)- - -