written by David Anglin

Daily Creative Writing Practice - It Felt Good For What It Was Worth [Short Story]

Daily Creative Writing Practice - It Felt Good For What It Was Worth [Short Story]

My daily practice of bringing depth to simple sentences...

It Felt Good For What It Was Worth

She sat down on the padded seat. Of the three rows of seating, she chose to sit at the back. As coming to these places always caused her anxiety. She rarely came to these places, as the sterile white walls always reminded her of how impure her lifestyle really was.
She coughed a chesty cough, bringing up a thick wad of green phlegm. Sticky in its nature as it stuck to the inside of her mouth. She pulled a lemon scented wipe from her D&G bag quietly spitting into it. Her heart skipped in shock as the thick mucus contained speckles of colour. Dots of red among the thick sea of green.

Perspiration gathered in small drops along the length of her forehead. Her anxiety only increased as that inner part of her, the part of her that she barely listened to. But the inner voice that always knew, when something was about to turn into an epic F up.
Though she tried to ignore the feeling she knew something must be wrong if even Peter a man she'd see for only passionate nighttime releases. Spurned her advances, telling her that she needs to "F off and get yourself sorted as you look like deaths long lost cousin."
A look in the mirror and a look at the shell she'd become made it hard for her to argue with his rudeness. As she resembled a withered Skeletor like thing. Master of the universe. No. The black bags underneath dark eyes. Thick clumps of mascara hiding no truth. She was now more like the master of the walking dead.
She felt tearful but the ever-watching eyes of the receptionist and security guard had her holding it all inside. Her mind, body, and soul congested with feelings of hurt. When she thought about it, it was a bit pitiful that her as a lady who had men traveling for miles to sample her ripe fruit garden. But during her time of need, not one could she use as a shoulder to rest on. To comfort her with gentle strokes of her hair, telling her it'll all be alright. She loved a man's touch but right now she wanted a touch of love. Of affection. Of protection.
Lust had men buying her gifts of expensive bags, of erotic panty and bra sets. Holidays to destinations that featured some of the bluest skies majestically flowing over the whitest of sands, oceans filled with sea life that even David Attenborough would have trouble describing. All of this for just a touch of the gift that lay between her two long golden pillars. A gift that she was in all honesty. All too happy to give. As a touch to her right buttons turned her world technicoloured. A vibrant world of a million pixels. So sharp that her mouth would be in a constant O from the constant stimulation. By a dozen different men. All wanting her. All desiring her. A stark contrast to the sterile of her present.
The reality of her life now showcased in all its ugly glory. She again felt the feeling of tears welling up inside her. But again the ever watchful eyes of the security guard had her suppressing it all inside. She wished her father would have watched over her like the security guard. She wished he would have taken some interest in her life. But here she was. Just like when she was a child. Alone and by herself.
Sometimes she wondered what life would have been like if her mother had never died so young. Maybe her father would have had love left for her. Instead of his love dying with her mother. Closing his world to everything. To everyone. Including his 7 year old daughter. He use to call her precious. But those words died with her dying mother.
She hated these thoughts, as they were so sentimental, holding no value in her fast-paced world. Love was a temporary emotion given by temporary people. She preferred something physical. Something she could hold. As at least then she'd be left with something. Given something. Something more than just a wanting emotion.
Though as she saw the petite nurse, with the red glasses covered by thick locks of black hair. She wasn't so sure anymore. She let out another throaty cough, littering her hand with speckles of red from where she covered her mouth. She again took another scented wipe. Cleansing her bloodied hand. All under the watchful gaze of the nurse with the black locks. Who's gaze turned into an emphatic smile, as she guided her with a sincere hand placed at the small of her back.

She couldn't hold it no more as she overflowed emotions. Waterfalls of loneliness. Of wanting love. Of wanting affection. The nurse held her to her shoulder. Like how a mother does a sobbing child. The office door now closed firmly behind them.
The nurse let her hold on to her. Acted as her anchor to life's turbulent sea. She waited before speaking. Waited for the sobbing to cease. She spoke.

"I'm sorry to say Ms. Samuel's but you're HIV positive. But this doesn't mean the end of the world as with modern medicine many with the illness are able to lead a fulfilling life."
She heard the words but didn't really hear the words. As she felt the weight of her whole world as it collapsed inwardly upon her...


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Photo by Naomi August on Unsplash


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Words and Art. Art and words. My stories will make you laugh, will make you cry. Provoke anger, cause distress. But most importantly my tales will get you thinking in hopes of bringing around real change...?

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