Good News, Bad News

If it was up to me, I would be anywhere else but this waiting room.

I visit my Doctor as little as humanly possible. In fact, last Monday was the first time I’ve been here in ages. He told me to go to the hospital and take the tests. He said he’d call me back when the results were in.

I got the call an hour ago from the practice nurse. She said the Doctor could see me as soon as I arrived.

The news is not good. It’s twins and my husband has been in prison for two years.

From Guest Contributor Bernie Hanvey

Boss

The dog was known as Boss by the Belfast housing estate kids. They heard harsh scratching as he desperately tried to crawl away from his tormentor, his muzzle leaving a dark trail of blood from where the first round had hit him in the face. His life trickled away from him through the short grey hairs on his jaw; an occasional desperate snarl ripping apart the cold morning air before he began whimpering again like a child.

Lining up the rifle sight, his tormentor watched the heaving chest, pressed the trigger and the pavement was awash with blood and fur.

From Guest Contributor Bernie Hanvey

Death

I opened my eyes and spoke with the angel at the foot of my bed.

He didn’t have wings or look like Brad Pitt. His name was Derek; originally from Basildon.

“What happened to me, Derek?”

“You’re dead,” he replied.

“How?” I asked, my voice catching in my throat.

“Car crash.”

“When?”

“An hour ago. They tried reviving you. Your time of death was six-thirty.”

“So, I was on my way home from work then?”

“I suppose so,” Derek replied, not seeming to care one way or the other.

“Did they say what caused it?”

“You were texting someone, apparently.”

From Guest Contributor Bernie Hanvey