It occurred to me recently that ODNT has developed a bit of a split personality disorder. On the one hand, we’re flexing our writing muscles with challenging exercises like the ones submitted to Trifecta … but, on the other, we’re still doing things like having fun with Alec Baldwin. I like the broad spectrum of topics we cover. It sort of makes me feel as though there’s a little something here for everyone … like Jerry Maguire … or a good sweet and salty party mix.
Anyway, for today, it’s time for the Trifecta Weekly Challenge. My entry is below but it can also be viewed along with all others submitted by clicking here. All entries must be between 33 and 333 words and they must include a chosen word, used according to the third definition provided. For more detailed information, click here.
This week’s word (and we’re using definition number three) is …
trail verb \ˈtrāl\
1 a: to hang down so as to drag along or sweep the ground
b: to extend over a surface in a loose or straggling manner <a vine that trails over the ground>
c: to grow to such length as to droop over toward the ground
2 a: to walk or proceed draggingly, heavily, or wearily : plod, trudge
b: to lag behind : do poorly in relation to others
3: to move, flow, or extend slowly in thin streams <smoke trailing from chimneys>
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This week’s Trifecta entry – Powering Through
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She panicked when the cramping started again. And she wondered how long she had been asleep. She stared, bleary-eyed, at the alarm clock on her nightstand. 5:45am. It had been nearly four hours since her last waves of pain. She reasoned that was a good thing … but her futile attempts at optimism were crushed when she felt the ripping pain return in her abdomen.
“Damn it,” she cursed breathlessly, reaching for her phone. She texted him again. “Things don’t look good. Please come soon.”
But she knew before the message was delivered that he was still in the air on the plane that would bring him home … too late to help. Too late to get her to the hospital. Too late to really do anything for her.
“But what could he really do if he was here?” she reasoned, remembering the doctor’s patronizing words. “Don’t get your hopes up again this time, Sarah. You know better than this. Your numbers just aren’t what they should be. And it would take a miracle for …”
She forced herself to stop thinking about the doctor’s “miracle” speech again. “Fuck you, Doctor Flannery,” she wailed, “this is my third ‘miracle’ and who are you to take it away from me?!!?”
She labored to pull herself upright. Lightheaded but determined, she dropped to the floor and began crawling, phone in hand, down the seemingly endless hallway to the bathroom. She stopped only once to catch her breath but, feeling the waves intensify through her gut, she summoned the strength she needed to drag herself the remaining ten feet.
She felt the phone buzz in her hand as she crossed the threshold into the bathroom. The message on the screen said, “Landed early. On way now. Hang on, babe.”
She stared at the screen until it turned black. And she shook with sobs as she felt the all-too-familiar first drop of blood begin to trail down her leg.
OldDogNewTits 