Mohawk On Display

Hello all my wonderful readers.  I know I slacked off on writing last semester, but I hope to fix that!  I’m taking creative writing, and I’ll be posting any interesting stuff I come up with.  If I start to slack off again, feel free to yell at me

For now, here’s something I came up with in class.  It might be continued, or not.  We’ll see.

Tim wakes up an hour later, still feeling a bit groggy.  He contorts into a few different positions, but they’re all equally uncomfortable, and he gives up on making the world disappear.  He opens his eyes.

Yellow wallpaper.  “Whose house is this?” he wonders.  He checks under the covers.  No girl.  He doesn’t feel hung-over either.  Just sort of funky.  Dropping the covers, he surveys the room, but there aren’t many clues as to its, or his, whereabouts.  No dresser.  No pictures.  No windows.  Two doors.

Time slides out of the rough sheets and checks the door on the right.  It’s a closet with a change of clothes and … gauze?  Ten boxes of gauze and as many rolls of medical tape.

Just as he starts to get dressed, a woman pops in through the other door.  Tim freezes, standing half naked in front of her, but the woman seems unsurprised.  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, dearie.  You might start bleeding again.”

“Bleeding?” he wonders.  “From where?

The woman strips Tim again, quickly and clinically, and pushes him back onto the mattress.  “Back to sleep, dearie,” she remarks, as she turns and strides out the door.