Ian Guthridge.com

A Very Short Story

by Ian on May.29, 2009, under Projects, Stories

While working on today’s comic, I was inspired to write up this little story ( It has nothing to do with my comic).  It is very stylized, so please let me know what you think (and don’t be afraid to be brutaly honest, just make sure your crtiscism is the helpful sort).

Type. Type. Pain!

It crackled across his skull like a miniature lightening storm and raced down his spine while his body convulsed.  His laptop crashed to the floor, shattering,  as he bolted to the bathroom, instinctually seeking any relief he could find.  His vision blurred.

The pain was everywhere.

He tore open the medicine cabinet and tried to scan the bottles quickly before his eyes failed him completely.  His hands were getting numb… everything felt heavy.  There!

Fireworks filled his vision. His ears rang. 

The aspirin tablets rattled loudly while he fumbled open the child proof cap in the dark. “Damn useless overly-complicated piece of plastic! Why… won’t… you… OPEN!” he screamed as the cap sailed across the room amidst the tinkling of the precious medication raining on the cold linoleum.

It took all his energy to remain standing as wave after wave of pain cut through his skull. He quickly chocked down the dim promise of relief and hobbled to the bedroom, hardly making it past the threshold before suddenly collapsing as if he was a puppet whose strings had been violently severed.  “Why… Why didn’t I  go here first…”  he silently lamented, unable to speak.

The doctor had told him it was dangerous, that he was too old for the implant, that the stress to his system would be too much. But he needed it. He couldn’t keep up with them. The brats at the office, they… they could…

Another wave of pain, so intense he could feel it in his teeth. Lightning ricocheted around his skull. He slowly crawled, his sporadically convulsing muscles only slightly more effective than gelatin, towards the phone. Lacking the strength to reach it, he feebly pawed the table where it perched.

 “I’m not going to make it…”

…the smell of burnt toast filled his nose…

After an agonizing eternal moment the phone tumbled to the floor.  With the very last bit of strength his failing body could muster he dialed… 9…1… he tasted blood… 1..

Then nothing.

“CLEAR!” Jolt. Pain. Nothing.

“CLEAR!” Jolt. Pain. Nothing.

“CLEAR!” Jolt. Pain…

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1 comment for this entry:
  1. michelle

    wait! what happens next?

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