I stare at the chart blankly. I can’t even begin to register my shock. I can’t feel anything anymore, with all the poking and prodding and tests after tests after guessing. I look up at the smiling doctor, his glasses glinting and his white coat seeming to shimmer before me.
“So…I don’t have cancer?”
And it’s only after he nods that I start to feel the exhaustion and relief creep into my deadened eyes.
I adore feedback of any kind, but please at least try and be descriptive about what you liked or disliked in my pieces. Also, if you’re going to read my stories, please, please, just leave a comment. Just a few words. I really do want to know what you thought of my work. Other than that, I’m pretty approachable, just IM me (my sn is the same as my pen name if you’re wondering) if you want to discuss my work on a more personal basis or collaborate. I’m Rachel, by the way, hard-working English major at a small women’s college in the American South. Been in the best relationship of my life for the past two years and am ridiculously happy and gooey about it.
Published on February 17, 2008.
This story (like all ficlets) is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 License. What does this mean?
Comments
Average Reader Rating:
Relief [I'd love to see someone pick this up!]
Posted 7 months ago
Relief [I'd love to see someone pick this up!]
Posted 7 months ago
Relief [I'd love to see someone pick this up!]
Posted 7 months ago
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