Maybe tomorrow

It’s becoming a bit of a habit for me to encourage people to write something short about a certain topic (also known as #fridayflash). This week, my writer friend Craig WF Smith and I were both feeling a bit run down so I challenged him to write something short about a Donald Duck-type tantrum/colds/flu. You can read his piece here, and mine is below …


“Ah … ah … AH … tishooo!” Donald shook his head sadly and blew his nose gently for the umpteenth time with a tissue said to be infused with soothing calendula. “Calendula shmalendula,” he muttered, settling slowly back against the pillows. He’d been tossing and turning all morning, so he actually felt quite uncomfortable. In fact, with his recent bout of emunction (that’s nose blowing, if you like things simply put), he had managed to untuck the fitted sheet AGAIN and was now resting on the bare mattress. Stuff it. He was sick.

Just as it seemed like he would manage to doze off, he suddenly sat up with a coughing/choking/problem-swallowing-his-own-spit fit. “Herp! Ghack!” He clicked his tongue in fury. Today of all days, he had to be mandown with the dreaded lurgy. He was missing out on birthday cake in the office – Margie always brought in one of those super delicious fresh ones dripping globs of Caramel Treat, as well as a pleasing amount of crumbly little sausage rolly things. Mmm. Great. He was now literally drooling at the thought. It had even brought tears to his eyes. No wait, that was just the constant fluey wateriness. Ugh. Gah. Annoying little scraps of tissue were stuck to his nose. He sighed and reached out a hand toward his bedside table … CRASH! He had knocked over his lamp, which now rolled horizontally, spilling water from the tall glass Carol had left for him before she had tiptoed out of the room that morning on her way to work. What a mess! Soggy tissues, a toppled glass, water dripping on the carpet. Fantastic. Just super. He put his head in his hands and cried, tears and snot mingling. He shouted words like “Gah!” and “Useless!” and thrashed about on the bed before calmly going to the bathroom to wash his face and dry his hands. Then back to bed for a nap.

When next he woke, Donald’s head felt a bit clearer. He wiped his tender nose yet again and decided to get up, fix the sheets and boil the kettle – a nice cup of tea or yet another Med Lemon was probably just what the doctor ordered. The inside of his throat felt raw and just as raspy as his rather stubbly chin. Just then, before he could make a move off the bed, his BlackBerry vibrated about in a happy dance and winked its red eye at him. He quickly flicked through to BBM where an image of a big red heart met his eyes – Ah bless, Carol said “thinking of you, don’t forget to try flush it out your system with many hot drinks, feel better my love xxx” It warmed the cockles of his heart, it really did.

With a light, soppy grin on his face, he eased his achey bones into a standing position, shuffled to the kitchen and waited for the kettle to boil, downed a scorchingly hot Med Lemon and shuffled back to bed. With yet another blow of his nose he settled his head against the pillows, closed his eyes and let out a little sigh. Maybe Carol would bring home a tub of that fancy hot chocolate he so loved and rub his back for him. Maybe Margie would save a piece of cake for him in the office fridge. Maybe he would feel better tomorrow. Maybe …


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