That's right! I actually finished this time! It's such a wonderful feeling, and an unfamiliar one too, but dash it, I like it! I've been looking at that banner for a while and now all I can see is a clownfish.
The next thing is, I promised myself that I would post an excerpt here once the month was over, which seemed like an easy promise to maintain, because no one would read it here anyway. Let's see if I'm right.
Choosing excerpts is really hard for me, because it's such a tiny, limited representation of a big, varied thing, and it's hard to choose the part that best represents its entirety. So I didn't. Instead, I simply scrolled up, stopped, and chose the scene I had landed on. Luckily, it's not one of the most terrible ones. If you're wondering why they're 'talking funny', it's because they're English. I suppose a little backstory would help; Hugo is a doctor who has just gotten the news that he's dying, Father Miller is a corrupt priest who constantly tries to 'sell God'. That should be enough for this scene.
No sense beating around the bush, then (
what on earth does that saying mean??), here it is:
(oh! one more thing! It's unedited. 50,000 words in a month, you think I have time to edit? No. So if it's not very good, that's why. I hope. The alternative is that I can't write for beans, so I hope it'll look better after editing.)
* * *
I can’t say I felt all that much better the next morning when I arrived at the Rye Medical Center - suffice it to say things were actually going downhill. I didn’t exactly wake up in a dumpster, but if I say that I spent what was left of the night using my doormat as a pillow, I think you’ll probably guess the rest. In all honesty, I felt worse than a man who had just been caught under all eighteen wheels of a semi, only to find out in the hospital that his wife had run off with his university room mate and taken all the health insurance with her.
As I walked up to the old, rusted sliding doors and they screeched their way open (the budget committee wouldn’t let us replace them with new sliding doors that didn’t screech. Honestly, I think they liked the sound. It must have sounded like their mating call) I saw someone standing at reception talking to Mary. This particular someone would have been very welcome about seven hours ago, but here he was now, and I suppose it was as good a time as any.
“Father Miller,” I greeted the priest as I entered the medical center. “What are you doing here?”
The priest turned warmly towards me, hands clasped perpetually in the ‘let-me-mend-your-soul’ position. “I’m here to give a spiritual consult to some of your patients who,” he lowered his voice respectfully “may soon be joining us on the other side.”
“I came to see you last night at the church,” I mentioned “but I suppose I was too late.”
“Well, you know you’re always welcome to rouse me from my chambers if there is ever a crisis of faith, Hugo.” He said, and I was surprised that he knew my name. I was just about to ask how priests always tended to know everyone’s names, when I realized that the lab coat I had slung over my shoulder was embellished with a little metal clip on the breast pocket that read; DR. HUGO BASILDON-WILDE. I reddened, feeling glad I had caught myself. Clearly, with only two and a half hours sleep, my wits were not about me.
“No, Father, I wouldn’t have wanted to disturb you.”
Father Miller smiled that peaceful, God-fearing smile that men of religion seem to practice in front of the mirror until they all look the same. “You are a good man, Hugo. I’m glad the church is finally working it’s way into your busy schedule. What was it you came to see me about?”
I hesitated, oohing and umming. “I don’t think this is really the time or the place, Father. I’d just gotten some bad news yesterday. It’s alright, I can deal with it on my own.”
“No, you can’t, Hugo.” Father Miller argued, now smiling as if he was talking to a small child. “That’s what God is there for, you know.”
“Ermm...”
“Look,” Father Miller pulled out the lapel of his robes and fished in an inside pocket. “I have some promotional brochures here of different services God offers. Some of them can get a bit pricey, but they’re worth it in the long run.”
I took the brochures and stared at them incredulously as the priest continued. “If you want to join our twelve-month Christianity program, there’s an application form on the back, and you’ll get a ten percent discount if you refer a friend. There are all sorts of membership options, all which offer varying degrees of spiritual enlightenment. I think this would be the best thing for you, Hugo.”
“Well... erm, I-I’ll think about it.” I replied haltingly. “I guess.”
“Good boy.” Father Miller patted me firmly on the shoulder. I suppose it was meant to be reassuring, but all it felt like was a salesman’s death grip. “And you call call the church any time during our office hours of 9am-5pm if you have any questions regarding your membership or future purchases. God looks forward to seeing you at his meetings.”
I stared after the man as he left, clutching the brochures and wondering if I had unwittingly just signed up to Christianity.
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trusttheonions's journal
accomplished
cranky
energetic
excited