Reward ficcage.
Sep. 5th, 2005 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kageotogiI finished everything on my To-Do list and so, as promised, I am going to post some writing. I'd like to write something FMA-centric, but I don't feel I know the series or the fandom well enough to give it a serious try... so I'll stick with what I know. For now. (Until I can beat ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tir_synni into giving me lessons or something.)
This is an original drabble I wrote this afternoon for my Poetry class. Last time we were in class, Doctor Hurd had everyone write down two secrets -- one that was true and one they made up -- and then read them all aloud. We had to pick one secret and write a page about it, simply so she can see how our creative juices like to flow. I chose one that went like this: When I was twelve and in the hospital, I was too embarrassed to ask for a bedpan so I snuck into the janitor's closet and peed in a bucket.
This is what I wrote.
My Little Secret
When I was twelve years old and in the hospital, I was too embarrassed to ask for a bedpan, so I left my bed in the middle of the night to pee. I'd had my tonsils out or something like that and it hurt a bit to get out of bed and pad down the hallway. I was looking for a restroom. I found the janitor's closet. The door was half ajar and I was sure I couldn't hold it in any longer, so I ducked inside, praying no one had seen me, and shut the door behind me. It was late in the evening; no janitor would show up to surprise me while I committed my secret, desperate act.
The janitor's closet smelled like mothballs and cleaner; the scent stung my nose and made me sneeze twice. The only real light came from a crack under the door, and I fumbled around on the walls for a light switch or something. I kept my legs clenched together so I wouldn't wet myself -- that would be even more embarrassing than asking for a bedpan -- and silently begged for a sweet and merciful release.
My fingers stumbled over a light switch and I flicked it gratefully. One quest over, I searched for something -- anything -- I could use to relieve myself. Didn't janitor's closets have toilets in them? No. That would be too convenient. Sinks? Shoes?
There. A bucket.
I pulled the bucket out from its hiding place quickly and positioned it under myself. Then I closed my eyes and squatted.
I think I was blushing when I finally left the janitor's closet and returned to my hospital room, but my overwhelming relief conquered my shame. No one saw me stumble back into my room or get back into bed or pull the covers up to my chin. I waited all the next morning for someone to find out about what I had done. The story would spread around the entire wing, I was sure, and then they would start pointing fingers and most of them would be aimed at me. I waited for it the entire morning until I was released from the hospital that afternoon. No fingers pointed. No stories were told. No one whispered behind their hands. It seemed as though no one at all knew what I had done, and I wasn't about to tell them.
It's still my little secret.
---end---
Thanks for reading. I apologize for the gross-out factor. *chu*
tir_synni into giving me lessons or something.)This is an original drabble I wrote this afternoon for my Poetry class. Last time we were in class, Doctor Hurd had everyone write down two secrets -- one that was true and one they made up -- and then read them all aloud. We had to pick one secret and write a page about it, simply so she can see how our creative juices like to flow. I chose one that went like this: When I was twelve and in the hospital, I was too embarrassed to ask for a bedpan so I snuck into the janitor's closet and peed in a bucket.
This is what I wrote.
When I was twelve years old and in the hospital, I was too embarrassed to ask for a bedpan, so I left my bed in the middle of the night to pee. I'd had my tonsils out or something like that and it hurt a bit to get out of bed and pad down the hallway. I was looking for a restroom. I found the janitor's closet. The door was half ajar and I was sure I couldn't hold it in any longer, so I ducked inside, praying no one had seen me, and shut the door behind me. It was late in the evening; no janitor would show up to surprise me while I committed my secret, desperate act.
The janitor's closet smelled like mothballs and cleaner; the scent stung my nose and made me sneeze twice. The only real light came from a crack under the door, and I fumbled around on the walls for a light switch or something. I kept my legs clenched together so I wouldn't wet myself -- that would be even more embarrassing than asking for a bedpan -- and silently begged for a sweet and merciful release.
My fingers stumbled over a light switch and I flicked it gratefully. One quest over, I searched for something -- anything -- I could use to relieve myself. Didn't janitor's closets have toilets in them? No. That would be too convenient. Sinks? Shoes?
There. A bucket.
I pulled the bucket out from its hiding place quickly and positioned it under myself. Then I closed my eyes and squatted.
I think I was blushing when I finally left the janitor's closet and returned to my hospital room, but my overwhelming relief conquered my shame. No one saw me stumble back into my room or get back into bed or pull the covers up to my chin. I waited all the next morning for someone to find out about what I had done. The story would spread around the entire wing, I was sure, and then they would start pointing fingers and most of them would be aimed at me. I waited for it the entire morning until I was released from the hospital that afternoon. No fingers pointed. No stories were told. No one whispered behind their hands. It seemed as though no one at all knew what I had done, and I wasn't about to tell them.
It's still my little secret.
Thanks for reading. I apologize for the gross-out factor. *chu*
