The storm came quicker than expected. Sure, she had been warned it could start within 12hrs of stopping cold-turkey, but she always figured that was more of a scare tactic. The 48-72 hr time window seemed much more likely. She also had never planned to test it, but here she was, having run out of her steroid prescription yesterday with two days until she could get to the pharmacy. She sat curled up on the bathroom floor, enjoying the coolness of the tile floor, focusing on it to try and calm the pain in her stomach, with the nausea, and keep from throwing up again. She contemplated the distance from where she sat to the phone, plugged in and charging beside the couch, and considered her meager savings in her bank account.
“Focus.” She thought to herself, closing her eyes and trying to remember what she had read about this. It was frequently referred to as a medical storm…what was the name, though? ‘Something’ storm…no, that wasn’t right, she remembered thinking it odd that it could be referred to as a “medical storm” but the name was different…crisis? That sounded right. But who cared about the exact name, that wasn’t important. (“Ok, well, it is, just not especially at this exact moment,” she wryly corrected herself.) She needed to recall what she had learned about it, how quickly it became serious, and if it was really worth wiping out her savings account for it. Causes…symptoms…no, she knew it was because she ran out of her medication and so hadn’t taken the next dose and obviously some symptoms had started to show up, almost no one ever had all of the symptoms listed for anything. She was having a harder time thinking and definitely feeling lightheaded. She started crawling toward the doorway, feeling too weak and dizzy to stand, but realizing that she had better get to her phone. It crossed her mind to wonder if the dispatcher would be able to trace her cell phone like they used to be able to do with old home phones, but the thought slid out as quickly as it had come.
She managed to get to her phone and as she dialed 9-1-1, it came to her. “Ah, yes, that’s right. It is considered a medical emergency because it can lead to shock and death. Duh, that’s why the extreme names.” Well, perhaps she should have prioritized getting that prescription refilled. Apparently her first mistake had been that she hadn’t calculated correctly what day she would run out and her second mistake had been that she didn’t get her refill this morning. Instead of asking at work if she could take some time to run to the pharmacy, she had planned to get a refill tomorrow. After all, being in a new job, she wasn’t sure what was acceptable and knew that a “quick run” over to the pharmacy would have taken up more than her lunch break. Just one day, that’s all she had needed. Hindsight is always 20/20.
“911, what’s your emergency?” A woman’s voice on the other end answered.
“Hi, I ran out of prednisone yesterday and didn’t get a refill today…” She trailed off. She heard more questions, was pretty sure she gave some answers and she hoped they were correct and made sense.
Eventually she heard voices, blurry forms surrounded her, she felt herself moved and jostled. The sharp sting of a needle in her arm. A second sharp sting in the other arm. She wasn’t sure if they just needed two or if the first one hadn’t worked. She assumed the first one hadn’t worked. She mildly contemplated how specific these thoughts were when she couldn’t keep track of what was going on around her as she slipped into darkness…
Glass of Grace
(sorry it’s not my best work, I totally procrastinated this week 🙈)
Rune counted shells like other girls counted jewelry. Each delicate piece that passed through her fingers she knew by name. She had memorized the touch of a scallop as her thumb rubbed against the ribbed surface, the bumps that lined the edges of a sea urchin, and the smoothness of a conch.
The hush of the early morning market was forever threaded through her ears as she slipped the fabric over the weaved basket, shading the shells from the sunrise. She thumbed through the small collection, smiling softly at the purple sea glass.
Giggling flooded her face with a flush as someone brushed against her arm roughly, and sent her basket tumbling over the sandy concrete.
“Oops, didn’t see you there.” Sasha covered her grin behind a finely manicured hand and turned to her friends. “I can’t believe how many peasants overcrowd the streets nowadays.”
The two girls reared their heads back in agreement. One eyed the shattered pieces of the sea spread across the ground, then stretched out her polished boot and trampled a particularly colorful conch.
Rune gasped as the boot twisted back and forth until the shell was undistinguishable between grains of sand.
She begged the tears to travel back to their home as they begged for release, burning her eyelids.
She supposed she should find gratitude as they finally retreated, for at least she was not trapped in a room with those three for hours upon hours learning the lessons that the sea taught her in sprays of wisdom.
The empty basket taunted her as she stared solely on it the entire journey back to the sea.
But the sky grew dark once more, barely freed from its nightly gloom. However, the low rumble told her that the storm came quicker than expected.
Rune was not prepared for the crash of light that struck the water before her, startling one of the aged tears into finally spilling forth.
She dropped the basket and wrapped her arms around her chest, a sob wrenched feral from her soul.
Her heart did not want to know whether her body shook from the sudden change of humidity to freezing pelting rain, or from her aching heart.
The frothy tips of white foam surged over violent waves, taunting the sky.
A small overcropping was her choice of refuge from the merciless rain. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, spilling its misfortune from her eyes.
The fear in her chest morphed into something deeper as she sat there paralyzed. Her thrill that lodged there spun her mind into weaving a prayer.
Suddenly she screamed it all into the wind. Her fears, her wishes, her dreams. With passion she chased the clouds away until all that was left was a single bolt of lighting.
She looked up as it snaked through the air like a bullet flown off course. It struck the waves with should fervor that her eyebrows drew together in empathy for the gains of sand below.
But what it left behind blew her away. Enticing her from her safe place, her feet took slow steps one by one, she reached the shoreline.
There, floating helplessly in the water, was the strangest shell she had ever seen. If that was what it could be considered, that is.
Rune stared until her throat tightened. It was no larger than the size of her fist, but it was far uglier than anything she had ever pulled from the sea.
It almost resembled a bleached fragment of coral, with rough edges and a cylinder shape. Sand still clung to the ridges.
She doubted it would fetch any price at the market, so with a broken heart she tossed it into the basket and resumed her stroll.
By the time her aching feet reached the small hut she shared she had only been able to find enough to exchange for the week’s rent plus a crust of bread.
She leaned her damp head against the freezing cinder blocks and sighed.
The strange shell peeked out from beneath the basket fabric and she scooped it up, and placed it in the window where it could be safe from the sweeping dust and grime.
Weeks stretched into months as her stomach grew hungrier, and her hope stretched thin.
One day she flung the door open, tears streaking her cheeks with uncontrollable sobs.
Her sadness turned to anger, most unlucky for the poor shell still sitting prim and proper in her windowsill. Her fingers snatched the helpless object from its haven, squeezing until her knuckles turned white.
She raised it above her head, steading her aim for the wall. But then the rare winding of wagon wheels and horse clomping pounded her ears.
She ran her arm under her eyes, and stared out the window. From the carriage popped out a round gentleman.
Her heart dropped. She knew she was behind on rent, but surely he would take pity to not throw her out of her home.
She hesitated before the door. But the knocks echoed in her mind until she could stand it no longer.
The man stretched out his hand as the door opened slowly.
“Henry Benedict, Miss.” He shook her hand without disdain. “I’m from the Museum.”
Her untamed eyebrows rose.
“An acquaintance of mine noticed a particular piece in your window and recommended that I see it for myself.”
She stumble for words, “t-this piece?”
His eyes grew wide and he stretched out his hands, “May I?”
She nodded her approval and handed the shell over.
“Do you know what this is called, Miss?”
“No.”
“It’s a most amazing testament of science. Very rare I must add.”
Her heart lept, and she could barely hear his words and numbers swam before her vision.
“It is a fulgurite,” he proclaimed. “They only form from lighting strikes.”
Rune’s eyes found relief, for once, in tears of joy. For her fear had provided her with saving grace.
She begged the tears to travel back to their home as they begged for release, burning her eyelids.
Love your wording here! Very creative!
