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As I Lay Dying 1475  35

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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #15 on: February 02, 2018, 08:08:59 PM »
truly frightening content read at your own peril:
then i took a poo on the floor and i started rolling on it. it felt so good. it felt like.. it felt like my dick was getting hard. I took a handful of poo and started stuffing it down my peehole. oh it stung and tickled inside of my dick at the same time. my nipples were starting to get erect. i took my left jiggly mamboob and put the hard nipple in my mouth and started biting. my nipple made a squeeky toy noise as i bit a small particle of my nipple off. blood started gushing. i was starting to get hungry from all this, so i went to the kitchen and took a big meaty sausage out of the fridge. i tied a string on the sausage and stuffed the sausage deep into my rectum for that extra spicyness and then pulled it out again. something felt wrong. the sausage was full of blood. i was bleeding from my asshole. as i fell to the ground i was able to grab a pen and paper from the table. as i lay dying i started to write the recipe for the spicy brown meat sausages. this information is too vital to go to the grave with me. fabio i love you.
sepi some issue should not be made public. please don't post anything like this ever again :D
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #16 on: February 02, 2018, 09:54:22 PM »
fabio is a hottie!
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #17 on: February 02, 2018, 10:43:10 PM »
Lol. Ok, list one!

Let's see, your name isn't Rose Dawson!

I can't help it if the nurse doesn't watch good movies!

That movie sucked.

Nonsense! It's one of the best ever made. It deserved every Academy Award it won! Wait. Did you say coconut chips? You remember that??

Yeah. That memory is only slightly less painful than the one where I broke my arm!

Ok, you're really exaggerating the horrors of an innocent snack item!

I started typing a reply, but the nurse came in. I tucked my phone under my pillow.

“You shouldn't be sitting up! You just had surgery!” she exclaimed, and came to push me back into the bed. That pissed me off, but I didn't want her to put poison in my IV line, so I decided to wait until after she left to sit right back up. She checked the machines.

She went over to the left side of the bed and took my temperature under my tongue.

“A bit high,” the nurse stated. “We're gonna need another blood draw to check your values.”

She put on a blood pressure cuff and inflated it until it was painfully tight. She recorded the reading. Then she tied an elastic tightly around my left arm, then opened a fresh syringe and tube.

“Why you gotta stab me every time?” I asked. “One of the other nurses took a sample from the IV line.”

“They shouldn't be doing that!” she said, sounding appalled. She continued, in a thoroughly superior tone, “The fluid from the IV can dilute the blood in that arm. They shouldn't even be using that arm. If it happens again, let a supervisor know immediately. The results of the test won't be accurate if the blood is diluted. Do you know who it was? I'll need to fill out a report.”

I shrugged. Wasn't gonna tell that bitch anything.

This information got my hopes up. Maybe I was better off than they thought. I'd thought I was on death's door this morning, and now I was feeling...well...in denial about the fact that the cancer was killing me. The growth in and around the left kidney had been more advanced, but the right kidney was also full of cancer and barely functioning. There were other problems, but the most pressing ones were my failing one and a half kidneys. I tried not to hope people would get in car wrecks and go braindead so I could have a kidney that worked. 2-6 year wait list. Weeks or months left to live, they told me. Do the math.

She inserted the needle, and thankfully got it on her second try.

“I need to check the incision,” she said as she discarded the needle into the sharps disposal bin on the wall.

I went to lift my hospital gown on my left side, but it was caught underneath me. I started to scoot back and forth to release it while pulling up. It was painful to move, but not to the same degree as before the unkinking of the hydromorphone line.

She helped unclothe the incision site. She started removing the bandages, which was a ghastly experience. “Arghh,” I groaned as she yanked on skin that had been recently sliced open.

She grimaced as she saw it. “It's infected.”

I looked down at my left side. I couldn't get the best look, but the dark stitches were visible in a swelling mass of red skin on either side of the scalpel trail. The area was tinged greenish at one end, with a smattering of dried blood here and there.

She cleaned up the area with sterile wipes, then applied antibacterial ointment and fresh dressings to the area.

“You'll need antibiotics internally,” she said while washing her hands. She wrote something on my chart, and left.

I picked up my phone and re-read her last message.

Ok, you're really exaggerating the horrors of an innocent snack item!

I started typing a few different replies, erasing each one.

The horrible part was that you sent me something other than what I really wanted!

Again I held my phone for awhile, waiting, before setting it on the bed next to my leg. I felt hunger pain, pain from the incision, and apparently an infection. It was just pain all over now. Nausea. Soreness in my left arm from continual impaling from metal sharps draining me dry and the blood pressure sleeve squeezing my arm until it hurt. I felt itchy in my left calf, a body part I no longer had, and had zero way to relieve the itching. I also just felt plain worn out and tired. I thought an attempt at sleep made sense right now. I realized I'd had a big plan to obstinately sit up after the nurse left, but I abandoned it. I closed my eyes. I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the phantom itching, since there was nothing I could do about it.

My dreams took me to the distant past.

It was her and me in my truck, her straddling my lap and kissing me sweetly with her arms entwined around my neck. I had my hand under her top, feeling the skin of her back, and tasting her mouth with my tongue. She was moaning eagerly and whispering my name. Then we were standing in a castle. She was suddenly snatched up by Golbez. Noooo, I shouted in my head, but was unable to talk. Rosa! Rosa! I called silently. Then Cecil said, “Kain has betrayed us!” I looked around. My life was low. I needed more hit points. Rydia! Can you heal me? We need to save the Crystal! Rydia looked at me and said, “It's stage four cancer. We don't have the right potion here. We need to go to Damcyan.” Then I looked behind me and Golbez was about to marry Rosa. No, no, no! I thought. I tried to run over but I couldn't move. Rosa, don't marry Golbez! He's a scumbag! Marry me! Then I looked in front of me and she was holding Cecil's hand. I started running to punch Cecil, but my leg fell off and I fell on the ground. Rosa walked over to me. She lifted me up. “You need two legs,” she said. Then I had two legs and she was sucking me off. I looked over and she was also sucking off Cecil. And Golbez. I was angry. There were 3 of her. You can't do that with other guys. I don't like to share. “Sharing is caring,” she said happily, as she continued to pleasure me with her mouth. It felt so hot. I felt close to finishing, and then she opened a jar of mustard and started spreading it on a slice of bread. Toast?? She smiled and wrapped the bread around my dick. She started eating it off, using a lot of tongue, and then there was a beeping sound. The toast is burning.
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #18 on: February 03, 2018, 09:31:06 AM »
man dudes i just woke up and my pbr half case is on my bed sleeping next to me.....it says on it "pbr half time show 2, 4, 18" whoooo in the hell drinks pbr! i bought it cause i felt sorry for it over milwakikiki

man i remember ow even the clerk said ohhh pbr didnt know people ever bought that... ok write on david..good reads
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #19 on: February 03, 2018, 11:58:05 AM »
After that really strange and weirdly arousing dream, I was in the hospital room again. One of the machines was beeping. A nurse came in. It was a new nurse. This one was young, but very fat, with a round face and a circular chin. She had long auburn hair in a braid, deep pink lipstick, and wore turquoise scrubs covered all over with cats. She had a pink stethoscope around her neck. Her name tag read Melanie.

“Hey there,” she greeted me. She silenced the machine. “How are you doing?” she asked as she replaced the empty IV fluid bag with a full bag.

“Fine, fine,” I said. I could feel the pressure down south still. Hard as a rock. I lifted my right knee a little to lift the blanket.

She took my vitals and made notes. She checked all of the machines, and the IV hook up on my right hand.

“How are you doing for pain?”

“Better than this morning.”

She replaced the full urine bag with an empty bag. “I need to check the catheter,” she said.

“Uh,” I wasn't sure what to tell her.

She lifted the blanket up. There was nowhere to hide it. If she had any reaction, it didn't show. She looked things over, touching the catheter insertion point lightly.

“Don't worry sir, it's completely normal. Everything looks good down there.” She put the blanket back. She took my vitals and made notes.

“Now, you were asleep when they brought dinner, so it's probably cold, but it is here for you. Do you feel up to eating?”

I felt like I was starving, but also nauseous and sick and disgusted by the sight of food. I'd try. I nodded.

She whispered, “I'm not supposed to do this, but I could warm it up for you in the microwave.”

“That would be great,” I said. She took the covered food tray and returned with it after a few minutes and placed it on the hospital bed tray and wheeled it over the bed.

“Shhh,” she said with a wink and a friendly smile. “Dr. Kuznetsov will be here to talk to you soon. If you need anything, be sure to press the button.” She left.

I lifted the tray cover. I stared at the shriveled-up peas. I grimaced at the little brown circle that looked like rubber. The mashed potatoes looked the most edible, but there seemed to be about 4 bites of it. I forced myself to eat. I finished everything. I pushed the bed tray away, then laid back down. I realized my arousal hadn't subsided. I remedied the situation, not letting the soreness in my left arm slow me down at all. I tried to sleep again. I was almost asleep, when I was startled back to consciousness by a deeply accented male voice.

“Vee vill do operation. No gut, you hev now. No gut. Also, eenfection, no gut. Vednesday morning. No leekveets, no futs ahftair meednight Tuesday.”

He came to my left side. “Luuk vund.”

“Uh, what?”

He was gesturing the incision. Once the gown was moved aside, he ripped off all the recently applied bandaging, which was as grueling this time around. He looked at it for less than two seconds. He washed his hands and walked out.

He said something about an operation...Wednesday? What the fuck!? Operation?

I glanced down at my uncovered wound. I felt nauseous again. Today was Thursday.

I heard my phone chime seconds before the nurse Melanie walked in, wheeling a trolley of medical supplies. She greeted me and proceeded to hang an IV bag onto a hook on the IV stand to join the neverending cascade of external fluid inputs and outputs I was attached to.

“What's that?” I asked.

“That's antibiotics to help with your infection.”

“The doc said something about an operation Wednesday.”

“I'll have to look into that,” she said. She rebandaged the wound. She took my vitals again.

As she left, she said, “I'll see what I can find out for you, Sir.”

I looked at my phone. There was a message.

Oh yeah? And what was that?

I thought for a second.

You to be mine forever!

After I hit send, I waited for awhile before drifting off.

My dreams were her again, and just as disturbing as before.

I was in a kitchen. I was young, and so was she. She was putting grocery items into the refrigerator and cupboards. A large number of dogs of all shapes and sizes were running around the house. I looked at the food. Cauliflour, broccoli, cabbage, onions, potatoes, squash, and apples adorned the kitchen counter. She was smiling. Then she was singing. She didn't seem to be able to see me. I called her name. She didn't seem to notice, but kept on putting the groceries away.

“Where's the pizza?” I asked.

I looked behind me, and saw countless children everywhere. Some were climbing on tables. One was hanging on the curtains. Two small boys were throwing a football back and forth. I saw a small white dog peeing against the sofa. Then a big black dog taking a crap on the floor. There was a lot of running around and screaming and destruction.

She started calling them. Every single one of the dogs and children had my first name.

“You can't name them all after me!” I said to her.

I looked toward the kitchen. She was no longer there.

I looked down. A little child was standing at my feet, looking up. “Daddy!”

“Nuh uh, no, no, no, no, I'm not your daddy!” I said.


I looked in the kitchen. She was there again, and she was enormously pregnant. I started wondering whose baby it was.

“I'm in labor!” she said. Then another man was taking her away.

I lit up a cigarette and inhaled from the bounty of its radiance. At last! I inhaled again. Then all the children were forming a massive crowd and staring at me silently.

“Smoking is bad,” said a little girl in a pink dress.

“Fuck off,” I said.

I opened the front door, “Everyone, go find your parents.”

Some of the babies started crawling out the door. One fell down the steps and started crying. Some dogs ran into the road.

“Daddy, I want to stay!” said one of the little kids.

“I'm not your daddy. Get out.”

Once they were all gone, I closed the door and started playing Counterstrike.

My mom came downstairs and asked, “Where are the children?”

“It's too much work. They're noisy and they stink and destroy everything,” I said. Then I opened the door to let her out too, and closed it after her, and returned to the computer.

I was hitting targets in the game. Then the targets were children and babies and dogs. I went to look out the window. There were dead bodies of children and dogs all over the street. The little girl in the pink dress had a crushed skull and lay in a pool of blood.

Then I looked in the kitchen, and she was cooking on the stove.

She looked at me, while holding up a wooden spoon like a scepter. Her eyes were glowing red, like Terminator's.

She asked me, “Where are my children?”

“They're at school.”

“You're lying.”

“You're a whore. Get the fuck out.” I said.

Then she was crying in my arms. I opened the door and pushed her down the stairs.

I went back to playing Counterstrike.

Yesss! 69 kills! Shit, I'm shot!

My hands flew to my left side.

I woke to to a screaming pain in my left side. I instantly felt like throwing up. I noticed from the corner of my eye that she was sitting there in the lounge chair by the window. I started urgently reaching for the puke tray on the stand, grabbed it with a tortured groan, and ejected my dinner.

I would have pressed the call button, but didn't want a nurse to evict the person who was apparently my new stowaway roommate. I held the tray in both hands and swallowed hard, trying to ease the burning in my throat. I started coughing. The coughing continued, and eventually turned into more vomit.

She stood up and walked over to me slowly. She softly put her hand on my shoulder.

“You done?”

I nodded.

She took the tray from my hands and went to dump it in the bathroom. She rinsed it out and returned it to the stand where it had been sitting. She went back to the bathroom and brought a few moistened paper towels and handed them to me. I wiped my mouth.

“So, still wanna make out?” I said.
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #20 on: February 04, 2018, 08:17:02 AM »
She laughed. She didn't say anything, just gave me a challenging glare and tried unsuccessfully to fight away a smile.

“Don't tell me you spent 40 years pining for me and have now chickened out!”

“You know what?” she said.

“I'm sure you're about to tell me!”

“I will kiss you...but...if I puke after it, it will probably be the last one. Do you still want it now?”

“Is that offer limited to my mouth only?

She was about to give me a playful smack on the arm, but stopped. The look on her face said she thought I was too fragile.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” she said in a chillier tone.

“The hand kiss earlier was nice.” I said.

She picked up my left hand. She kissed the back in several places, then the knuckles, then down the fingers. I started getting very excited. She stood up, still holding my left hand in both of hers. I wanted to yank her on top of me, but realized doing so would probably be excruciating since I had an infected incision on my left side on which she would land directly.

“C'mere,” I said.

She took a step closer.

“Get on top of me,” I ordered.

She suddenly looked a little shy.

After hesitating for a few seconds, she slowly started climbing on the bed until she was over top of me.

“Tell me how many times you fantasized this,” I said to her, while staring into her face.

She started to turn pink.

Quietly she said, “A lot.”

She picked up my left hand and lifted it up to her mouth and pressed her mouth to it again.

“You're beautiful,” I said.

“Someone...might...come in,” she whispered weakly.

“What are they gonna do? Jail us?”

She gave me a smile as she recognized her own words from earlier.

She leaned forward and kissed my mouth softly. I put my hand around her neck and kissed her back. As our mouths moved together slowly, I started running my right hand through her hair. I started pulling at the clasps in her hair until I released her hair. It fell in waves and almost reached her elbows. She was starting to make little noises that told me she was really enjoying this.

I suddenly realized I had to take a dump really badly.

She noticed a pause, and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I just have to go to the bathroom.”

“I thought it was like, attached.”

“Yeah this is the other one.”

“Um, do you need help?”

“If you could just push that wheelchair over here, that would be great.”

She got off the bed, smoothed her shirt out a bit, and brought the chair over. I pulled myself to sitting position slowly and painfully. I started budging my right leg over toward the edge of the bed.

“Can I help you?” she asked

“Any excuse to get your hands on me, huh?”

She smiled and took that as an invitation. She slid her hand up my bare right leg and helped it over the edge of the bed. Then she took my left leg at the knee, slightly above where it ended, and pulled that over too. She made sure none of the IV tubes were stuck on anything and started moving the IV stand. She looked down, and grabbed the urine bag from the hook at the end of the bed and hooked it onto one of the hooks on the IV stand. She held my hand to stabilize me as I stood on my leg and sat in the wheelchair. She started to push the chair, but I used my arms to wheel the chair toward the bathroom myself. She wheeled along the IV stand. She helped me up from the chair and I used the bars on the wall to steady myself. She pushed the IV stand into the bathroom, moved the chair out of the way, and closed the door.

When she heard the toilet flush, she came to the door and tapped on it. I opened it.

She steadied me by an arm and I held a bar with my other arm until it was out of reach, and then held the wall with that hand until I was at the sink. I washed my hands. I brushed my teeth.

She helped steady me while I moved toward the wheelchair and lowered myself into it. She leaned forward and kissed my mouth again. I pulled her by the hips onto my lap, ignored the pain in my side, and kissed her like I was dying. Then we sat there looking at each other while smiling. She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head against my shoulder.

Then I felt her body moving jerkily. She was crying.

“What?” I whispered.

“Just...being with you...I can't believe it's...after so long...I just love you so much,” she whispered through tears.

“Oh, here I was thinking you thought kissing me was that bad!”

She giggled. She stood up, wiped her eyes, and pushed the chair toward the bed.

“Oh!” she said suddenly. “I got you some stuff while I was out!”

She walked over to the lounge chair by the window and picked up several full shopping bags and set them on the bed.

“Whatcha got there?” I asked.

“I thought you might get a bit bored in that bed, so I brought you something to do!”

I raised my eyebrows. I was curious what she thought I'd enjoy doing in a hospital bed, but her statement suggested something else I asked about instead.
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #21 on: February 04, 2018, 06:12:38 PM »
“Why would I be bored when I have the most beautiful and amazing woman hiding out in my room with me?!”

She smiled.

“I'm flying home tomorrow.”

I felt sick.


She nodded as she pulled out a pile of books from one of the bags. She set them on the bed one at a time as she read the titles aloud.

To Kill a Mockingbird, 1984, Diary of Anne Frank, Fahrenheit 451, Lord of the Flies, A Tale of Two Cities.

“A few random Tom Clancy books. I haven't read any of him, ever. I had a law teacher who had that name once though. He was hilarious since he made us get up and do a war clap to music every day at the beginning of class. That's one way to get remembered!” She grew the pile of books.

I thought back to my teachers who were mainly douchebags not worth mentioning.

I was still stuck on the idea of her leaving. Why would she leave now? She continued talking, but I wasn't paying attention. I realized I really didn't want her to leave.

She was pulling out book after book, continuing on reading titles, but I interrupted.

“What the fuck!? Where did you get these? Did you...buy these?”

I picked one up. It was brand new. They all were.

“Hopefully you can find something interesting in there.”

Then she pulled out a pile of magazines and plopped them on the bed as well.

I picked one up. Cars. I flipped through a few more. Hunting. Fishing. Men's health. Guns.

I raised my eyebrows. “You know I don't hunt.”

“You might have picked it up in the last 40 years. How would I know?”

“Where's the Playboy?”

She glared at me with a smirk. “I had a feeling you'd ask, so just in case, I grabbed this.” She pulled out a copy of American Senior and flung it at me.

I grinned.

She then pulled out a CD player and earphones. She dumped a bagful of plastic-wrapped CD's on the bed. She peeled the plastic from one of the CD cases and loaded it into the CD player after setting it on the stand by the bed and plugging it in. She left the unopened earphones on the bed.

“Just in case,” she nodded toward the earphones.

“What's that you just put in there?” I asked.

“Press play. I think you'll like it.”

“You press play. I need to know if it's worth suffering for before I'm willing to rip apart my flesh reaching over there.”

Some really pretty, peaceful instrumental music started to fill the room when she did.

I looked at the piles of books, magazines, and CD's with equal parts of gratitude and dismay.

“This is a ton of shit!”

She shrugged. “Hospitals can be dull places! If there's anything you know right away you have no interest in, stick it back in a bag and I'll get it outta here so it's not cluttering up your space.”

“You shouldn't waste your money on me!”

“Well. Consider it this way. I'm happier thinking that you're enjoying yourself in here. So I'm wasting it on me. It's very selfish.”

I semi-reluctantly chose a few items. She put the rest back in the bags.

“I also got you TV.” She tossed me the remote.

“Oh, and this,” she said as she pulled out a football from one of the bags and tossed it at me, completely without warning.

Instinctively, my hands reached out to grip it flawlessly in midair. The familiar feel of a leather-bound prolate spheroid brought back a flurry of memories from my youth. I was about to throw it back to her, but I suddenly worried about knocking her over.

“Do you know how to catch?” I asked.

She laughed. She nodded at me and held up her hands at chest height. I threw it very softly, since I was genuinely worried it would hurt her if I threw it normally, but it was too softly, and it landed on the floor by her feet. She picked it up and moved further to the end of the room.

“Are your really arms that weak?” she asked. “They seemed to be working earlier,” she added, and tossed it back to me. In spite of her throw being high, I easily snatched it from the air above my head, but regretted it the next instant when I felt my left side protest the reach with what felt like an agonizing tear.

For the arm comment, I whipped it at her forcefully.

As it hit her hands, she yelped “Ow!” and fumbled it, but still managed to be clutching it awkwardly between her elbows. She moved it to under her left shoulder, and shook out her right hand several times while making a pained face. I felt slightly bad, but said nothing.

She threw it at me with more power than before. I caught it easily.

“You throw like a girl,” I said, as I returned it.

She caught it and gave me an affected mean face, and retorted, “At least I don't throw like an asshole!” then appeared to throw it with all her strength. Her aim was way off, and it knocked over a pile of books that went toppling to the floor, then bounced into the corner of the room near me.

“I think you were aiming for the ventilator that time!”

“You're not on a ventilator!” she replied while walking over to pick it up. She tossed it to me from there, and then walked back to the far end of the room.

I threw it back to her, suddenly realizing that I didn't feel at all like a sick dying man right now. We threw it back and forth a few more times until my body was worn out and I just held onto the ball. She came to sit on the edge of the bed. We just sat there quietly for awhile while our breathing slowed down. I liked hearing her breathing harder. But instead of letting my mind go there, I decided to go with a question.

“So, why a football?”

She gave me the same look I'd expect from someone if I'd asked them if they were an alien.

“Is that a real question?”

“Why did you get me all this stuff?”

“Uh, 'cause I wanted to?”

“But why?!”

She leaned forward as if she were going to divulge something top secret. She spoke in a low voice.

“I don't usually tell people this, but...” she looked around, pretending to look out for enemies overhearing, “I like you.”

I smiled. She smiled back.

I whispered her name.

She scooted closer to me, put a hand on either side of my face, and kissed me again. This kiss was different from the others. It wasn't as soft and sweet, but expressed urgency and desire. I returned it with equal avidity. She stopped momentarily to move over me so she was straddling me, and returned to kissing me. After awhile, she rested her head against my shoulder. I put my arms around her and we lay like that for awhile.

“There's one more thing,” she said eventually. “I couldn't get it today, but I ordered it online. Overnight shipping. You should get it tomorrow morning.”

“More stuff!? You're spoiling me!”

“I don't think you can be spoiled anymore. It's too late for that. This is just the pre-death party, since you won't be around to celebrate your funeral.”

 “I already told my family not to bother with a funeral. It's a rip off scam that preys on vulnerable mourners who are desperate enough to throw money at a corpse. The person's never coming back.”

“Would you come to my funeral?” she said softly.

“No,” I admitted.

“I already knew that,” she said.

“Then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see if you were gonna lie to me like you usually do.”

She lifted her head off my shoulder and looked at my face the way I imagined she'd look at a dying puppy.

I felt another poke of irritation but wasn't sure why. I wanted to ask her if she'd be coming back after she left, but without sounding needy.

“So, you're going home,” I tried, hoping to get an automatic answer.


“So, you came to do another tease and run routine, huh?”

“Is that what...is that...is that what it...” she was shaking her head. “I never meant to...”

Her face changed and now looked sombre. She looked away.

“You...you...want...” she started to ask a question, giving my eyes a glance. She stopped and looked away again.

“My dogs - “ she started again, but again didn't finish.

“There's just...” and still didn't finish.

I started thinking she'd spent her life obsessing over a fantasy, and now that she'd seen me, she'd had enough. The real man didn't live up to her fantasy, and that was that.

“I still have a little time,” she said. “As long as I can stay awake or until I get kicked out.”

That didn't sound like she was in a rush to get away from me.

“What about...staying?” I asked.

“I just have some things I need to do back at home. My dogs and house and business and stuff I have to take care of.”

“Does that mean...you're coming back?”

She smiled. She said my name again and felt for my hand with hers and then squeezed it.

“It's a two-way flight,” she said.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I'm coming back!”

“How does that mean that?”

“Oh. Yeah. I drove here.”

“You can still drive?”

“Some of us decided not to kill ourselves with cigarettes and not eat only toxic poison,” she grinned.

“You don't have to be an uppity smug little egotist about it to a dying man on his deathbed!”

She laughed. Then she kissed me again. “You know I adore you! But you keep harping on your dying as if the same fate isn't waiting for us all. Could you be any more of an attention whore?”

I smiled.

“You're the one who keeps mocking me for being on the verge of death!”

“Tell me what you want right now,” she said.
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #22 on: February 04, 2018, 06:21:31 PM »
take ya a dancing break..had make my on youtube failed me but dam what a masterpiece..28.8k modem specs
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #23 on: February 05, 2018, 04:16:53 PM »

“I'd love a shower right now,” I admitted.

“You always did love your showers!” she said with a smile. “Alright then.”

She got off the bed, brought the wheelchair close to the bed, and held out her arm. I took her arm and let her help me into the wheelchair. I started wheeling it toward the door, and she followed while pushing the IV stand with all its bags and tubes.

“I know!” she said suddenly, and walked toward the supply closet. She dug around in there until she eventually found clean scrubs. She closed the door to my room.

“Turn around,” she instructed.

“I can't watch?” I complained after I realized she was about to change clothes.

She laughed.

“Am I the one that's supposed to shower you?” she asked.

“I was hoping,” I said.

“Hmm, then fair is fair. You are not required to reposition your chair.”

I watched as she pulled off her top. She walked over to the bed and found her hair clasps and re-pinned her hair.

Watching her move without a shirt on was starting to turn me on. She put on the shirt.

She pulled the bottoms on under her skirt before removing the skirt so I didn't get to see anything. She then grabbed the bags and moved them over beside the lounge chair.

“Now I look like a nurse, right?”

“Only if any of the actual nurses were stuck in a time machine for 100 years!”

“Hey, if you're gonna bring out the ageism, I'm gonna go all oncologism on you.”

“Anything with you on me sounds like a decent plan,” I grinned.

“Pff!” she exhaled and walked over to study the fire escape diagram on the wall near the door.

“I wanna find where the shower room is from here rather than wander the halls waiting for the nurse from Hades to devour me if she sees me again. I'm not worried about what they'll do to me, I only don't want them to take me away from you.”

“Why didn't you just sign in like a normal person?”

She gave me a look. “Wouldn't that require actually being a normal person?”

“Is it the immediate family thing?”

“Well, that is a factor to consider, but not the whole of it.”

I didn't know how to say what I wanted to say next, and part of me strongly questioned it, but I figured I had nothing to lose.

“What if you became my immediate family?”

She looked at me. “What...are you saying?” she asked me slowly.

Marry me, I almost said. But instead I said, “With all your shenanigans, I'm sure getting a fake ID with my last name on it wouldn't be too hard for ya!”

She laughed. “Not a bad idea! Okay, I think that's it there,” she said, looking at the floor plan on the wall again, “so we'd have to turn right from here, then right again down the first hallway, and it's on the right about a third of the way down. Right, right, right. Easy.”

“Okay, so then why didn't you sign up at the desk like everyone else?”

She inhaled sharply, then started at me for a few seconds before releasing the air.

“I thought...they might ask you...and I thought...you might not...want to see me,” she finished.

“So you were gonna force it on me huh! Whether I like it or not!”

“Well, honestly, I didn't even think you'd remember me. Having it in writing somewhere would make it real and undeniable. That way, if you didn't want me or remember me, and I'm not even sure which of those I feared more, but then I'd be able to just disappear like it never happened. It's dumb, I know.”

I thought about her words. I realized my memory of her was distant and fuzzy. I hadn't thought of her in many years. If they had asked me if I wanted her to visit me before she showed up, I probably would have said no. I didn't really want anyone watching me die. I'd just been hoping it would hurry up and be over with. But now that she was here, I didn't want her to leave.

“Yeah, that is dumb!” I agreed, not wanting to say anything else.

“Let me try to find where they keep the towels,” she said, looking around the room. After searching for sometime, she came up with something in her hands, but no towels.

“Maybe they keep them somewhere else, like a closet off the hallway,” I suggested.

“I did find these, though,” she said as she put on a mask and a hat.

She was about to start pushing me out of the room in her disguise, when she said, “Oh yeah! There was one more thing I brought for you.”

She rushed over to the bags, searched through them for a moment, then pulled out a light brown teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck and tossed it to me with a sheepish smile.

Before I could say anything, she said, “I know, that's dumb, too. I just didn't like the thought of you being here alone.”

“That's -” I started, but stopped as I heard footsteps approaching the door. She hurried into the bathroom, turning the light off and leaving the door open.

The fat nurse Melanie entered the room.

“Oh my!” she exclaimed in surprise. “You're in your wheelchair!”

“I had to use the bathroom,” I said.

“Well, if you're able to do that, I can take the catheter out for you!”

“Yes, please!”

She took my vitals as I sat in the wheelchair and made notes in my chart. She washed her hands and then approached and asked me to move my gown.

She inserted a syringe into the balloon port of the catheter hookup, and sucked the water out of the internal balloon sitting in my bladder, deflating it. Then she very slowly started to pull the tube out. It burned, but I was glad to be rid of the thing once it was all the way out.

After she'd disposed of the used equipment and washed her hands again, she asked me again how I was doing.

I told her I was doing fine, and didn't mention the pain from my side or how weak, tired, or sore I felt all over. I also didn't mention the aching pain of hunger, or the nausea, or the stinging feeling in the place where she'd removed the catheter.

“Will you need help getting out of your wheelchair?”

“Nah, I got it,” I said, then asked, “If I wanted to shower, I could do that as long as I don't get the bandage wet, right?”

“You also don't want to get this wet,” she pointed at the IV in my right hand. “Hang on,” she said, and walked out of the room.

She returned with plastic and tape and a few washcloths. She put a washcloth over my hand, then put a piece of plastic over that, and then taped it up. She did the same for the bandaging on my left side.

“Now, still try to avoid getting those places wet as much as you can. Those aren't going to be completely waterproof. Do you need help in the shower?” she asked.

“Nah, I got it,” I said again.

She looked me up and down.

“You sure?” she asked.

Dr. Carson entered the room, carrying a clipboard.

“What's this!?” he asked, seeming alarmed to see me out of the bed.

Melanie explained to Dr. Carson that I was planning to take a shower.

“With his condition, this patient needs to be in bed! If he collapses in there and hits his head, we could get sued. And you don't have time to be spending an hour showering each patient. You have patients in every room of this hospital wing who could be keeling over while you're mollycoddling every high maintenance fusspot!”

He looked at the clipboard in his hand. He looked me up and down. He shook his head with a frustrated exhale. “Get him back in bed.”

To me, he said, both slowly and loudly, “Your GFR has sunk below 15. Creatinine and nitrogen levels are sky high. We are going to have to start dialysis. Tomorrow morning.”

Melanie started to help me out of the chair and back into bed. I reluctantly, and painfully, made the move back to bed with her assistance. The soreness and tiredness were overpowering. I felt gross. I really wanted a shower. I hate hospitals.

“Where's the catheter?” demanded Dr. Carson.

“He was going to the bathroom on his own so I removed it.”

“Get it back in. This patient is in critical condition and should not be moving,” said the doctor.

I felt my already burning male parts seem to retreat at his words. I felt so aggravated by endless pain and soreness and now irritation on top of all the physical things. I started shifting back and forth, trying to find a comfortable position. My left side felt like it was ripping apart with movement. I tried to lay still to stop it, but couldn't stay still.

Then he saw all the bags by the chair in the room.

“What's this!?” he asked in an irked voice. “Where did all this stuff come from?”

He walked over to the bags and nudged them around with his feet.

“This can't be here. Get this stuff out of here,” he said to the nurse.

Melanie was saying to the doctor, “There have been some abnormal heart readings.”

The doctor put the stethoscope in his ears and came to listen to my heart. After awhile, he nodded.

“Yeah, he reeks,” said the doctor. “If there are bags of things, someone from his family has been here who might sue us. Go shower him.”

Then he walked out.

Melanie seemed slightly uneasy and whispered an apology and helped me back into the chair. The process took several minutes, since my pervasive soreness was making moving more and more difficult.

“I want to shower myself,” I said firmly. “I'll sign a waiver if I have to.”

Dr. Carson entered the room once again.

“I checked the logs. No one's been here. So where did all this stuff come from? Have you seen anyone? Maybe someone else's relative brought something to the wrong room or else we have a security breach.”

Melanie shook her head.

“No, Doctor, I haven't seen anyone in here.”

“Has anyone been to visit you?” the doctor asked me in a very slow and loud voice.

“There are people in and out all day and night. I haven't noticed anything.”

“Who brought these things?” he said in a more normal voice, realizing that I was mentally sound.

I made him question his newfound knowledge when I answered, “My mom.”
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #24 on: February 05, 2018, 05:07:49 PM »
I felt my already burning male parts seem to retreat at his words.  :o i dont blame him from using the bathroom.
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #25 on: February 05, 2018, 09:56:56 PM »

He addressed the nurse, “We can't have unauthorized people wandering these floors. Keep your eyes open for anyone without a valid visitor tag on their person and call security if you see anything unusual. Also, guy across the hall puked all over and has blood on his bed so take care of that first, then come back and deal with this guy. Stick him back in his bed before you go.”

Then he briskly walked out the door.

“I'm not going back in the bed right now,” I said firmly.

Melanie seemed conflicted. She peeked out into the hall, then looked back at me.

“You can just tell him I refused,” I said, seeing that she was stressed out by this.

“Okay,” she said at last. Call me if you need anything,” she said, and went across the hall to deal with another patient.

After the nurse left, the fake nurse hiding in the bathroom emerged.

“The joy of hospitals!” she said in a contemptuous tone. She took a peek out the hallway, then ducked back into the room and went behind the door. Thirty seconds later, she peeked out again.

“Okay, it's clear!” she whispered. “Let's go!”

I started wheeling myself out the room, headed to the right, and she pushed the IV stand behind me.

Dr. Carson was coming out of a room looking at a clipboard in his hand. He entered another room and didn't seem to notice us.

I made another right at the next hallway. Everyone seemed to be engaged in their own affairs and no one tried to stop us.

I stopped in front of a door marked Shower Room and she opened the door for me. I wheeled through the door and had to stop so she could hold the door with her foot while reaching back to pull in the IV stand. She released the door and it closed.

There were three shower stalls, each equipped with a seat, bars on the walls, a hand-held shower attachment, and a thick white curtain. Across from the shower stalls was a long wooden bench with hooks on the wall above it and a built-in wall shelf above the hooks.

“I don't see any towels,” I said.

She looked around, but found no towels in the shower room.

“I'll be right back,” she said, and left.

After a few minutes, she returned with a pile of four folded white towels and four washcloths and two clean hospital gowns, which she placed on the shelf.

“Can I...help out of your gown?” she asked, seeing me struggling with the ties on the back.

“Sure,” I said and leaned forward slightly so she could undo the ties.

She pulled the gown off my left arm, and I scooted right so she could pull it out from underneath me on that side. Pulling the gown off the right arm involved pulling all the IV bags through the arm hole after the sleeve was off my right arm. She replaced the bags carefully back on the IV stand once the gown was removed, then tossed the gown in the dirty laundry bin in the corner of the room.

She seemed to be carefully avoiding looking directly at me, as she supported my left arm with both her arms while I pushed against the armrest of the wheelchair with my right arm to lift myself up to standing. I felt a headrush once I was standing, and she gripped me more tightly as she felt my balance wavering. She held on to me until the dizziness passed.

I started to slide my foot back and forth to move closer to the seat in the shower, but then changed my mind and decided to try to stand as long as I could. I held onto one of the bars on the wall with my right hand, and she let go of my left arm to turn on the water. She removed the hand-held water sprayer from  the holder and pointed the spray at the wall opposite me until the water turned warm. She put the showerhead in my left hand and went to get two washcloths and hung two towels on a hook outside the stall. She closed the curtain.

“I'm probably gonna get wet,” she said, as tiny drops began to dot the pants she was wearing.

“Me too,” I said.

She laughed. Then for the first time, she looked at me directly before whispering, “In more ways than one.”
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #26 on: February 06, 2018, 04:18:20 PM »
I watched her face as she stared at me, enjoying the fact that her professional veneer was falling away.

Her mouth was open and she now had her eyes fixed on my body and seemed to be frozen except for her breathing that was starting to halt and speed up in turn.

I was starting to sense this might turn into a much more pleasant shower experience than I was expecting. I tried not to let the gratification I was feeling from her staring at me show on my face, but she noticed it.

“Uh,” she turned pink and looked away. “Sorry.”

“You can look all you want,” I said suggestively, which prompted a tiny chuckle from her.

She wet one of the washcloths in the water and turned to start pumping soap onto it from the soap dispenser on the wall. She took the showerhead from my left hand and stood behind me and sprayed the warm water on my back. It felt very nice. She lowered the water spray to my lower back and started rubbing my shoulders and back with the washcloth.

It turned into a really, really good shower experience.

She proceeded to wash me everywhere, dried me off with the fresh towels, and helped me into a clean hospital gown, putting the IV bags back in through the right armhole first. She tied it up at the back, and helped me into my chair. She picked up the wet clothes, taking what belonged to her with us, and leaving the soaked hospital scrubs in the laundry bin in the corner of the shower room. Having nothing else to wear, she put on the other clean hospital gown, then stood in front of me and asked me to tie it for her at the back, which I did.

We started making our way back to my room from the shower room. I felt so, so much better.
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #27 on: February 08, 2018, 02:38:03 AM »

She helped me back into bed in my hospital room. We both were grinning like morons, and when our eyes would meet, she would break into a laugh, blush, and look at the floor before peeking at my face again. After she'd tucked me in and given me a lengthy kiss followed by yet another smile, she went to the bathroom to change back into her own clothes, pitching the gown into the laundry bin. She climbed into the bed beside me and cuddled up next to me with an arm and a leg over me. I put an arm around her.

She looked up at me.

“Do you need anything? You must be hungry.”

I shrugged. “There's no more food available until breakfast tomorrow.” I did feel significant hunger pain, now that she mentioned it, but either I'd gotten used to the feeling over the course of my illness or that feeling was masked by the blissful afterglow of our really enjoyable shower.

“Let me get you something,” she said.

“That would mean you leaving! I'd rather go hungry!”

“I'm not gonna let you starve!” she insisted and started getting up. “I'll try to make it fast. But I have to stop first at my hotel room before coming back here.”

I was going to protest again, but before I could say anything, she was gone.

I reached over to turn the CD player back on. I picked up some of the books and magazines from the stand beside the bed and plopped them on the bed.

I started paging through the magazines first. In spite of them not being overly interesting, it was somewhat enjoyable to see pictures of all kinds of places and nature and people when I'd been staring at hospital walls and ceiling for so long.

I picked up one of the books and turned to the first chapter and began to read.

It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,

we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

I read until I fell asleep.

She was in my dreams again.

She was a teenager sitting in a playground swing. I was sitting on the swing beside her. We were playing tic tac toe on a grid we'd drawn with our shoes in the gravel, swinging diagonally towards the board to make our moves, which didn't always land in the targetted lopsided square, laughing whenever we made our moves.

A group of teenage guys approached and surrounded her. She went to play tag with them.

I ran over to them and said, “I want to play too!”

She crouched down to me, patted me on the head, and said “You're only 12. You're too little.”

I looked down. I had no pants on and I was wearing a diaper.

“I don't wear diapers!” I started calling to her, but she was already gone.

I watched them play tag, and soon they weren't playing tag anymore. I could hear the clashing of swords. I ran closer to see what was happening. There was a hoard of roaring blue ogres attacking her. She was fighting back with a sword, but she was alone.

She needs help. She doesn't know how to play. I looked behind me and I had a huge group of orange ogres. I sent my ogres to save her. They killed all the blue ogres.

“I can help you,” I yelled, “I know how to play this game.”

She didn't seem to notice me. Then she disappeared.

Then I was walking in the halls of my old high school. I peeked into a classroom and I saw her writing on the chalkboard. She looked stunning in a gray skirt and pink and white striped shirt, both of which hugged her perfect youthful feminine curves, with her hair flowing down her back. She was writing my name over and over again on the chalkboard, but didn't seem to know I was watching. She was coming towards the door. I ducked behind the corner. She came out of that classroom, and wrote my name on every chalkboard in the entire school. She was looking for me but I didn't let her find me. I wanted to go to her, but I couldn't.

I wrote her a list of math problems and mailed it to her.

Then I could see her in her house. She was wearing nothing, kneeling on the floor, and was crying, with body-wrenching sobs while holding a drinking glass in her right hand, which she squeezed until it broke. She took a large shard and started slashing her wrists with it.

No. No.

But I couldn't do anything. I couldn't get in. I was locked on the outside somehow, but I could see through the walls. Then I could see her outside, burning a picture I recognized. It was a picture of me.

Then she was in the kitchen in exactly the same spot as before, naked and shaking, holding the bloodied piece of glass, still gouging at herself with it, her face a picture of consummate anguish that made my insides churn.

I helplessly watched the blood stream down and gather in pools on the tile floor as she repeatedly cut herself while convulsing in misery too deep for words.

A terrified little child suddenly appeared in the doorway.

“Mommy? What are you doing? Mommy? Why are you crying?”

I tried to get in the house. I started calling her name.

The child came to the door and stared at me.

“Let me in!”

“Who are you?”

“I'm your mommy's friend. I want to help your mommy.”

The door opened. I ran into the kitchen. I reached into my pocket, pulled out a needle and thread, and started sewing up her gashed skin. I kept sewing and sewing. I tried to talk to her but she just kept crying. When I finished sewing, there was just skin and flesh and thread all in an untidy bloody clump, but she wasn't there anymore.

The child stared at me with a blank expression.

“You killed my mommy.”

“No, I didn't!”

I could see flashing lights outside the house. It was the police.

They entered the house, said my name, and told me I was under arrest for murder.

“I didn't do this! She did it to herself!” I said emphatically.

Then I was in prison. I held a copy of To Kill A Mockingbird in my hand.

Then she was in there with me, young and beautiful and wearing a white dress with yellow flowers.

She was smiling at me and said, “As long as I'm in here with you, I'll never be bored!”

I put my arms around her and then we were fucking in the prison cell. Then she looked back at me and was an old woman. I looked down and realized I had two legs. I don't have two legs anymore. Then my left leg disappeared with a noise like a branch breaking, and I was bleeding profusely. I lost my balance and started falling. That jerked me to wakefulness.

I opened my eyes and was in the hospital room. Melanie was taking my blood pressure.

“I see you made it alright out of your shower,” she said. “Had me a little worried!”

“Yeah, it was fine,” I said.

“So I asked and found out that you're having an operation on Wednesday morning,” she sounded happy. “It looks like a match has been found. You will be getting a new kidney!”

“How? Who?” I asked, feeling guilty at the thought of a child in a car wreck who would be saving my life.

“I don't have those details,” she replied. “I do need another blood sample, though.”

I held out my left arm to her.

“Dr. Carson made me remove the stuff from over there,” she nodded toward the lounge chair while wrapping an elastic tightly around my arm, “so I just stuck it in one of those patient lockers,” she then nodded toward where the lockers were while she impaled me.

“You know,” she said, “your blood pressure is the lowest its been since you've been here. That's a remarkable improvement. I actually took it twice because I didn't believe the first reading! How are you feeling?”

“Great,” I said, and realized I wasn't lying. I did feel great. I registered when I concentrated, the fiery soreness in my left side, the hunger pain, the nausea, it was all still there, but I couldn't really feel it. The only thing that was bothering me was that she wasn't here. I looked at the clock on the wall. 9:41, it read. I didn't remember what time it had been when she left, but I felt like she'd been gone a long time.

After she was done taking care of me, Melanie advised me to get some rest and moved on to other patients.

I kept staring at the doorway. Then I looked at the clock on the wall before staring at the doorway again. Then a minute later I looked back at the clock again, and noticed it now read 9:48. I resisted the urge to text her. I noticed the CD had finished playing to the end. The other CDs were out of reach, so I reached over to press play to replay the one already inside the player. I picked up A Tale of Two Cities again and started reading where I'd left off.

I looked at the clock again. 9:50. Why is time crawling so slowly? I tried to read again. I couldn't focus now, since I was hungry, tired, sore, groggy from all the drugs, and I just kept thinking about her showing up in the doorway.

I noticed the remote on the stand. I set the book down and reached for the remote. It hurt in my left side as my hand grasped it, but the pain felt dull and distant. I turned on the TV. I reached over and turned off the music, wishing as I felt the pain again that I'd done both in the same reach.

I watched football for awhile, then flipped around and stopped at a rerun of the really old show Game of Thrones. It was the episode where my favorite character, Sandor Clegane, stopped his older brother from killing Loras Tyrell. When the credits began to roll with the ending music, I looked at the clock again. 10:59.

I turned off the TV, and reached over to set the remote on the stand, and turned on the music again, and grabbed several magazines.

I paged through them, and kept glancing at the door.

Finally, on one of my glances, there she was!

She was standing there, holding a black thermos under her arm and a bag in her hand. She had changed her clothes, and was wearing a long black skirt and a gray shirt with a black sweater.

“Hi,” she smiled at me from the doorway, but didn't enter the room.

“Get in here!” I called.

She came and set the thermos and bag on the hospital bed tray. She kept staring at me and smiling.

“Didn't mean to take so long,” she said. “The first grocery store was closing, so I had to find one that was open so late, and it was kind of far. Then I had to go to my hotel room and make this.” She unscrewed the cup and then the top seal of the thermos, and poured a tiny amount of green liquid into the cup and passed it to me.

“What...is that?” I asked, looking skeptically at the green goo in the cup.

“It's soup.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“It has kale, spinach, broccoli, brussel sprouts, onions, carrots, and lentils. Then I blended it all up.”

“You...made this?”

She nodded.

“But listen. I know you want to eat a ton of it really fast.” (I didn't, actually.) “But you have to eat it really slowly. A spoon or two at a time, then take a break. That's how it's more likely to stay in your body.”

“How did you make this in a hotel room?”

“I got one with a kitchen?” she said with a small laugh.

She pulled a spoon out of the bag and gave it to me.

I forced myself to try it. I resisted the urge to spit it out, and tried not to make a disgusted face as I sloshed it around in my mouth before swallowing it.

“So? What do you think?” she asked.

“It's fucking gross,” I said honestly.

She laughed and shook her head.

“But it's sweet of you to make me gross food in an effort to prolong my rapidly fading existence and alleviate my starvation pain!”

She just kept smiling at me.

I took another bite. It really wasn't that bad. I was about to take a third bite, but she grabbed the cup and spoon away from me.

“Okay, now wait,” she said and set them on the bed tray nearby.

I stared at her.

“So, did you have fun with your new stuff?” she asked.

“I sure did! I would even have played football, only it's not that interesting as a single player game!”

“I think you'll really like what's coming in the morning,” she said.

“I'm pretty sure I prefer what came a few minutes ago!” I said.

She grinned. She came to sit by me on the bed and kept looking at me with a smile.

“Why did you come now?” I asked at last.

She seemed confused by the question.

“I mean, did you time it to a specific date in your weird mental catalog of specific dates?”

She laughed.

“It's...yeah. It's the anniversary of...something,” she said, and looked at the floor.

“Oh yeah? Of what?”

“It's March 28,” she said.

“That means nothing to me,” I told her.

“I know.”

“So what is it?” I pressed.

She shrugged. “It doesn't matter. Okay, you can have a bit more now.”

She stood up and passed me the soup cup again, then pulled the bed tray closer so she wouldn't need to get up to reach it.

I took another few bites of the green soup from the cup, but it wasn't as warm anymore.

She took the cup and spoon and set them on the bed tray again.

“I don't know how much longer I'm gonna last,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean, I'm really tired,” she said. “I'm gonna have to go to bed soon. I barely slept last night after driving all day 'cause I was too antsy thinking about seeing you all night.”

“Gotcha,” I said.

She seemed to be staring at the wall.

“What were you expecting?” I asked her.

“I didn't think you'd remember. me. And I thought if by chance you did remember me, you'd think I was a weirdo stalker or something and not want to see me. I also considered the possibility that you might be...mentally absent.”

“You are kind of a weirdo stalker. A nasty green soup-making weirdo stalker who's aged a billion years since I last saw you. But apparently that's my type.”

She giggled.

“How come you never...I mean...did you...never mind,” she said.

“How come did I never, did I what?”

“Never made any attempt to talk to me or anything.”

“Think about it. You should know the answer.”

“I want you to say it.”

“You were fucking married.”

She said nothing for awhile.

“He died 20 years ago,” she said.

I didn't know that. “Why didn't you come find me then?” I asked.

“I did.”

“You did. What the fuck?”

“Yeah. I saw you and you were with a...pregnant woman. She was really pretty and you looked happy. I was happy for you and I left. Was that...your wife?”

I nodded. I was absorbing this.

Eventually she asked, “So did you have more kids, then?”

I shook my head.


She said nothing.

“We'd named the baby Charlotte. It was a girl.”

My stomach started feeling sick at these memories.

“I was out picking up the crib that we'd ordered from the store. I pull in the driveway, and there's another car in the driveway.”
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #28 on: February 10, 2018, 07:38:16 PM »
“It was a month before the due date. We'd felt her kicking earlier that day before I went out.”

She was looking at me intently.

“I carried the crib into the house, and there was a guy yelling at her in our bedroom. He was saying, “I have a right to my fucking child!””

Her hand flew to cover her open mouth. With effort she moved her hand towards and then over mine, still looking horrified.

I continued, “I punched him in the face. Then I kicked her out. That was a low point in my life. Didn't think it could get worse. But it did.”

The memory was starting to make me feel like throwing up.

“She aborted the baby to get back at me. She took a fucking picture of the body, the pieces in the bucket and sent it to me. The picture of Charlotte's severed arm with her tiny little hand sticking out of the pile kind of burned into my mind forever.”

Her mouth quivered and tears were streaming down her face.

“I've felt guilty about Charlotte all these years. I wish I'd waited til after she was born to kick out her whore of a mother. I wouldn't have been able to keep her anyway, because it looked like she wasn't mine, although I don't know for sure. But at least she might be alive.”

“It wasn't your fault,” she said firmly. She came close to cuddle against me and put her arm around me protectively.

“Either way, Charlotte was dead.”

We sat in silence for awhile.

“I wish I could have had your child,” she said softly.

She held me a little tighter. I could feel little jerky movements of her body indicating that she was crying. I didn't look at her, since if I did, I thought I might start too. I wanted a cigarette.

Eventually, I squeezed her hand and whispered, “It was a long time ago.”

“You've had so many awful things happen to you,” she said through tears.

“Everyone faces some shit or other.”

“I wish...I wish I coulda been there for you,” she said sadly. “But, of course you wouldn't have anything to do with me, after I...I couldn't even talk to you” she trailed off and kept crying. “Why does everything have to suck?”

“Not everything! Don't you have a swarm of adorable grandkids at home?”

“It's not the same. There was no one, before you or after you, who was to me what you were. No one ever took your place in my heart. Even though I married again. After you and I got...close...there were only two men in the universe. “You” and “Not you.””

“I thought you told me you were single now,” I said.

“No, yeah, he died about three weeks ago.”

“Shit. Couldn't even wait for them to lower the coffin, huh?”

“Maybe if I knew you weren't likely to die early from cancer, I wouldn't have been in such a rush to see if you were still alive!”

“So, what, you gonna marry me now?”

“You're joking, right?”

“I mean yeah, no, I fucking wanna marry you.”

She laughed.

Then she shook her head. “That's crazy.”

“And you showing up here after 40 years isn't?”

“Well, I just...okay, yeah, it is crazy, but I mean, it was you! There just wasn't any other way to feel! It's not like I didn't try to forget you. Or try to hate you. Or try to just not care. I couldn't."

She gave me a long look through glistening eyes before continuing, "I went to counselling, I watched videos and read stuff on how to get over it, I took up hobbies, I learned new things, I met new people and all that stuff they said to do, but nothing erased you from my mind. One of the counsellors said to write your name on a paper and stomp on it. Fat lot of good that did.”

“So fucking marry me then.”

She laughed, then looked at me for awhile before eventually saying, “It might be a really short marriage!”


“I just got here this morning! You're not serious!”

“I am,” I said with conviction.

“Have you thought it through any more this time than the last ten times you asked me that?”

I laughed. I hadn't, not really.

“Guys who are serious about it come armed with...proper proposal equipment!” she said.

“Like, you mean, a ring?” I asked.

“Or a worthy explanation for its absence.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know you'd show up here today?! How's that for a valid excuse?”

“And you don't love me,” she whispered. “You probably woulda asked any willing female that showed up here. And ya know, you're really drugged up,” she gestured at the IV stand, “so probably not a good time to be making life-altering decisions. Oh, crap, sorry, the soup! I haven't been feeding you!”

She got up and went to pour more soup into the cup.

“Okay, at least it stayed warm in there,” she said as we saw the steam rise. “Yay for thermoses.”

She passed me the cup and spoon.

I took another two spoonfuls before she snatched it away from me and set it back on the bed tray.

“So when is a good time? When I leave the hospital? That'll probably never happen! How about when I'm dead?”

“Listen, if you can convince me that you mean it, that you've thought it through, that it's what you really want...” she let out a frustrated groan. “Don't toy with me. If you're messing with me, it's really mean!”

“You said I don't love you. Why do you think you love me?”

“Well...I think I love you 'cause I feel like I'd do anything for you and wait for you forever. I want what's good for you. I wanna help you, be there for you, cheer you up, show you kindness, make you laugh, bring you joy, and protect you from everything. I care for you immensely.”

“Why? What have I ever done to be worthy of that kind of devotion? Maybe the feelings you held on to have more to do with your needs that weren't met and less to do with me. Let's be real. I treated you like shit.”
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Re: As I Lay Dying
« Reply #29 on: February 19, 2018, 11:29:27 AM »
She seemed taken aback. “I wouldn't say that. I mean, sure, sometimes I guess, but you were good to me too...what are you trying to say??”

“I just don't know why someone as beautiful and amazing as you would be interested in me. Especially now,” I said, giving the medical equipment and my cancerous, scarred, amputated body a despondent glance.

She looked at me, shaking her head slowly. “You were my hero. You brought me to life...I felt like I could be my most real and fullest self with you and you were drawn to me for who I was, the same as I was drawn to you. You thrilled me through and through. And most of all...my heart felt safe...with you. At least before you destroyed it! But I guess I deserved it.” She stepped close to me. “You're still you. He's still here,” she said softly and touched my cheek with her hand.

“Honestly, I don't think it's me you love. You don't know me as well as you think. You put me on this pedestal and made me out to be something I'm not. I'm not anybody's hero. Sure, I liked that you made me feel like one, but it was a fantasy. What about me do you love that's real?”

“You always were one for probing interrogations!”

She stood up and started pacing toward the window and back, seeming deep in thought. Eventually she began a cascade of praise.

“Hmm, well, a lot of things! You're incredibly fun, you're bright, you're funny, you excite me. You're caring and warm and honest. Okay, except for when you lie, but anyways! The connection we had...that was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Even when we were only friends, it was like, there's nothing to describe it! Being around you was like the most amazing thing in the world. It was a thrilling adventure, ecstasy, just total happiness, just getting to talk with you. I love your core, your heart, your mind, your words, the way you talk, your face, your voice...you completely captivated me. You got my heart and you got it in a permanent way. I'm in love with you. Or the other alternative is that I'm simply insane!”

Taking all that in brought back memories. I saw her younger self in my arms, heard her laugh, felt her holding my hand. I couldn't bring myself to say anything, so I picked up my phone and started looking at rings.

She stared at me, looking like she was waiting.

She kept looking at me expectantly, and started looking disappointed. I tried to think of something to say, but I just wanted to show her instead. Eventually she went to sit in the lounge chair and stared out the window.

I found one I liked, and summoned her.


She stood up and approached the bed.

“You like this one?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you...for real?”

I nodded. “Sure am.”

She stared at me with a lip-bitten smile for a long time before looking back down at the phone.

“Anything you choose for me will be a dream come true!” she declared with unrestrained elation as she picked up my hand.

To test her on that, I found a gaudy ring featuring a curled-up jewel-encrusted snake.

“How about this one?” I pointed my phone toward her.

She gave me a look. “You're joking, right?”

“I love snakes,” I said solemnly.

“Then that can be your ring. Does it come in men's sizes?” she asked while glaring at me.

“We should get matching snake rings.”

She stared at me, unsmiling. I didn't waver. After awhile, she raised her eyebrows, still unsmiling, and retorted, “Fine.”

She pulled out her phone and peeked at mine to find the same ring, then started filling out the order form.

“I'm paying for it,” I said.

“I'm paying for yours. That's how it works. Actually I'll just order them both and if you want to pay for it later that's fine, or not, it doesn't matter.” She said while continuing to push buttons on her phone. She was seriously ordering the snake rings. I didn't say anything, assuming she was bluffing and would burst out laughing any moment and then we'd choose the real rings. She paused and looked at me.

“So, when did you want to...get married?”

“The sooner the better. Right now if you can get someone here to do it!”

“Overnight shipping then,” she smiled as she continued to press her phone screen.

She completed the transaction. I felt a headache coming on. She stared at me.


She shrugged slightly and kept staring with an amused look.

“This isn't real,” she said, “is it.”

I laughed. “Why wouldn't it be real?”

“Because I spent so long imagining it...and now the real thing seems a little scary. And I don't think I still believe it!”

“What's scary?” I asked.

“Hmmm, marrying someone you spent one day with?”

“Yeah, but in many cultures, like where they have arranged marriage, they marry without spending even that much time together! And don't forget all the time we spent a lifetime ago! That is what brought you here today, isn't it?”

“I'm just terrified I'll wake up in the morning and it'll be gone. You'll be gone again.”

I realized dejectedly that it was only a short matter of time before I would be gone again. My life's hourglass held very few grains of sand on top now.

“You,” I said hoarsely, “You're a strong woman. You don't need me. You'll go on and go back home to your family and keep doing all the things you like to do. You can keep running your business! Go travelling! And you'll go knowing that if there is an other side, I'll be loving you from there.”

Her face flung to face me and her eyes lit up.

“You...love me?”

“Of course I love you.”

She came to hold me tightly. I squeezed her back. She kissed my mouth with a beautiful sorrow, a deep passion speaking all the words she didn't reply with. I pulled her closer. I enjoyed it, but the increasing pain in my head was making me want to lie down and rest. I still felt hunger pain and nausea also. I looked at the cup of soup on the bed tray and gave a slight nod toward it.

She looked. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Kinda forgot about that!” She went to dump it in the sink and poured hot soup into the cup from the thermos and passed it to me. I took it and started drinking it from the cup. I chugged almost all of it by the time she noticed.

“No!” she gasped.

It turns out she was right, because moments later, I had to throw up.

I reached for the tray, but my side was raging in agony, so she went in a hurry to grab it off the stand, but she tripped on one of the cords from the machines, causing it to jerk painfully at the IV needle in my hand and causing her to fall to the ground.

I wanted to call to ask if she was okay, but I started throwing up.

She just lay there, not moving.

I continued heaving until there was green liquid all over me, the bed, and the floor.

 Eventually there was a little motion from her.

I was about to press the call button. I hesitated, but pressed it, then started calling her name.

She groaned and eventually answered, “I'm fine. Just got my wind knocked out,” but continued to lay on the floor.

“A nurse is coming,” I said.

She groaned again, and started slowly moving to sitting position. While she was still sitting on the floor, Melanie entered the room.