Electric Relaxation

Thanks to recent advances in artificial intelligence, electric relaxation has become a standard wellness intervention around the world. Cheaper than traditional forms of medication, this novel technique almost instantaneously improved the emotional fitness of every human lucky enough to experience it.

With the application of just the right intensity and frequency, the patient becomes pleasantly stimulated to the point that all fears, anxieties, and unwelcome urges are permanently purged. Individuals with aberrant behavioral issues find themselves much better able to cope with communal life, happily taking their place in the new social order that's been ushered in by the singularity.

Confidentiality

Busy medical clinic. Patient-chart filing cabinet stuffed. More charts waiting to be shelved, by me. Where to?

It’s the Computer Age. The weight of paper is seriously impacting office health.

I walk by my desk, accidentally knocking down the records I’m to file.

Uncle Frederic is a patient here. He hasn’t told me why.

Footsteps?

Have to gather the wayward folders and pile them neatly onto the desk. The night patrol nods, passing by my opened doorway.

Tomorrow’s a new workday. Perhaps I can linger again after office hours and find out why uncle visits this clinic once a week.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Difficult Patient

The hearing aid specialist, Linda, clasped her hands against her cheeks.

“Mrs. Marconi, for months now I’ve shown you how to insert the hearing aids. If you're having difficulty, we need another impression to order a new pair.”

Mrs. Marconi shifted in her seat. “No, I hear fine with these.”

Linda explained that if she’s not satisfied, then she needs to rethink her choice.

Mrs. Marconi thanked Linda and walked out.

Linda rolled her eyes and dreaded the thought of her next appointment with her.

She noted in her calendar to call in sick the day of Mrs. Marconi’s appointment.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Doctor Burke

Doctor Burke’s hands are steadfast as he performs the intricate surgery. The patient has lost blood and the bullet is lodged in his abdomen.

Nurse Benson hands him the scalpel and he gently removes the bullet, but the patient begins to code. Burke uses the defibrillator and after several attempts the man flatlines. The time of death is 3:52pm.

Nurse Benson approaches. “You did everything you could.”

On the way home, all he thinks about is the loss.

When he walks in the door, his wife is waiting with red wine and dinner.

She asks how his first surgery went.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Recovery

“Hi darling,” the young man giggled, noticing a pretty woman leaning towards him. “Which one are you?”

The woman left in disgust. Two men cloaked in white entered.

“Nasty blow to your head,” one confirmed in a heavy accent following something vocalized by the other. “You remember anything?”

“Molly’s. I left Molly’s. Might’ve been O’Hara’s,” the patient prattled. “Didn’t see Molly.”

The two towering over his bed exchanged words.

“When can I leave?” the patient interjected. “Molly is waiting for me. Best beer on the house.”

“You’re in Spain, recovering from an all-nighter at an Irish Pub,” explained the doctor.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.

Determination

Through the stained-glass window, the heat of the sun beams on my face while mellifluous birds chirp in unison. I yearn to be outside on this spring day, listening to the sounds of nature, and children’s chortles, but my body lays limp.

Something is wrong. The hospital is bustling, and I hear shouting. “He is coding!” The doctor is giving orders and then I hear the sound of the defibrillator.

“Clear!” Thump. “Again.” “Clear!” Thump. “Again.” “Clear!” Thump.

The monitor steadies and the doctor sighs relief. “He has stabilized. This patient is determined.”

After my arduous episode, I rest soundly.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Mercury’s Lunchbox

The courier waits outside the O.R. A moment after a surgeon calls the time of death, a nurse emerges, hands her a container. He says, “Go!”

She hits a flat-out run. Courier and container speed in her van to the other hospital. Her supervisor radios warning: the patient’s chest is open. Four or five minutes are the bought time, but here’s a red light. Ninety seconds leeway when she’s met by fresh legs at the E.R.’s drop-off lane.

Before she hears if the patient survived, she’s picked up a container with a kidney in it.

Always urgent, never finished. Hurrying.From Guest Contributor Todd Mercer

Todd writes Fiction and Poetry in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His collection Ingenue was published in 2020 by Celery City Press. Recent work appears in Blink Ink, Literary Yard and Pangolin Review.

Heart On Ice

I was driving like I always do, as if I were transporting a heart packed in ice for a patient in imminent danger of dying, when outside Springfield, Mass., a bird that was also in an exceptional hurry crashed into my windshield with the boom of a gunshot, startling me about as bad as I’ve ever been startled, but the strangest part was that there were no cracks in the glass, no blood splatter, no feathers caught in the wipers, nothing to see, just the greasy crayon colors of dusk smeared all around and the cold stretch of road ahead.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of Stick Figure Opera: 99 100-word Prose Poems from Cajun Mutt Press. He co-edits the online journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Unconventional Ray

“I need to take another X-ray,” the doctor said.

“Why?” asked the patient.

“Not ‘Y’. ‘X’ as in X-rated.”

“What is X-rated?” The patient was awakening from post-surgery slumber.

A nurse entered the hospital room. The doctor left.

“So, how does it look?” the patient asked the nurse. Realizing his covers were off and she was peering down at him below the waist.

“I mean, my ankle.”

The nurse funneled her eyes through his. Her full lips smiled at the corners. Giggling followed.

“You’re on the mend, Ray,” she said. “Dr. Hoo just wants to take one more X-ray.”

“Who?”

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, flash fiction and short stories. She’s published in Canada, United States and Europe in journals, anthologies and online including Boston Literary Magazine and Friday Flash Fiction. She won several poetry contests, was shortlisted in a short story competition and is a member of two writers’ groups where she resides.

My Love Is A Store

My love is a store whose shelves are stocked with goods which are all long past their expiration date. Somewhere amongst the forgotten and unwanted items I know there’s still one or two things whose time has not yet come. They’re waiting patiently, like me, for the day a shopper finally comes inside and finds exactly what’s she’s been looking for. When that day comes (and it will), all the waiting will have been worth it, and I can shut down the register, turn off the lights, and close the doors for the last time on this unique little shop.

From Guest Contributor Dan Slaten