This week we had the challenge to write two separate pieces. The first was to detail an insignificant moment, the second the opposite and have it as a significant one.
The Spot
Elbows above his head and against the wall, they held Dave up as he let the ropes of steaming water rinse the last of the soap from his hair. Enjoying the torrent as it ran down the back of his neck and shoulders and into the tray below he stood for a few minutes working up the courage to welcome the day ahead.
Finally he turned off the taps and ran his fingers through his hair to drain off any excess water before stepping out of the shower.
He lifted his towel and began to dry himself off as he moved into the bedroom to begin getting ready for another long and tedious day.
Sat on the corner of the bed he lifted his leg to dry between his toes. He worked the towel between each toe and made a mental note to buy some Athlete’s Foot powder.
As he continued to towel off he noticed a swell of angry skin on the inside of his thigh. A spot he realised. A spot on his inner thigh. A spot that looked ripe enough to squeeze.
There was something very satisfying about squeezing a spot. He couldn't quite tell you what it was but it was something he just couldn't leave alone. It was maybe the slight mix of pain and pleasure, at the release once the flesh had burst and he expelled the yellowed infection from his body. Whatever it was, it always felt good to pop a spot that was ready to yield to a bit of pressure.
He used his thumb and forefinger to test the amount of pressure needed and his leg flinched in spite of himself. This would hurt. He could leave it a while longer. No. He knew it was there now. He needed to squeeze it. It would hurt. But only for a few moments. Then there'd be the release. The satisfaction. This was a two handed job.
With the thumb and forefinger of his right hand he used his left hand thumb to attack the beast from all sides.
Sure enough there was pain. A sharp pain. He changed direction. More pain. Just slightly he moved direction again but with that change of force the flesh gave way and the yellow green pus seeped out and onto his leg.
He used the corner of the towel to mop his thigh clean and massaged the area around the now open pore to ensure that the pustule was fully drained. The pus gave way to blood and Dave continued to mop the area dry until the pore closed in on itself and all that was left was a raised mound of flesh where the spot had been only moments before.
With satisfaction Dave finished drying off and continued preparing for work. As he left his bedroom he threw the used towel in the laundry basket at the top of the stairs.
Floating
Dave was floating again. His head swam. His eyes were closed but he could feel himself drifting. Floating. He opened his eyes. It hurt to do so. He was in a room. Not his room. His head hurt. He closed his eyes. He floated. He opened his eyes. People were talking at him. He didn’t know the people. He didn’t know if he responded. He closed his eyes. Floating. He floated out the room. He opened his eyes. He hadn’t moved. He was alone. He closed his eyes. Floating. He opened his eyes. His brother was talking at him. Floating. He opened his eyes. People were busy about him. Floating. He opened his eyes. His parents were there. His mother was crying. Floating. He was alone. Floating. People were talking again. Floating. All of his family were next to the bed. He was in a bed he realised. Floating. He was alone. Floating. He was in a room he didn’t know. In a bed he didn’t know. He had wires and tubes attached to him. Floating. More people he didn’t know. Floating. He was alone. He was in a hospital bed he realised. Floating. Someone was talking to him. Floating. His parents were there. Floating. He was alone. Floating. Why was he in hospital? Floating. His mum was talking at him. He answered. She cried. Floating. He opened his eyes someone was talking to him. Telling him to drink. He did. Floating. The woman was back telling him to drink again. He did. Floating. His parents were there. His mum spoke to him again. He couldn’t understand why he was in hospital. Floating. He was told to drink. He asked what was happening. Floating. His brother was there. He asked what was happening. Floating. He was alone. He took in the room around him. There were a lot of machines. Beeping. Buzzing. Floating. He drank. He asked what was happening. Floating. His brother was back. He asked what was happening and his brother told him he’d had an operation. Floating. He asked a woman why he’d had an operation. He drank. Floating. His parents were back. They told him he’d had an infection and had to have an operation. Floating. A man was there. He was told that he was the doctor. He was told he was lucky to be alive. Floating. He asked for water. Floating. He asked for more water. His head was becoming a bit clearer. The doctor came back and told him he’d been there almost two weeks. He slept. His family were there. They told him he’d had an operation because of an infection in his leg. He slept. He drank. The doctor told him he’d removed the infection. The doctor told him the infection began because he’d squeezed a spot. He slept. He drank. He started to stay awake for longer. He started to drink more. He started to become aware of things around him. He started to realise he couldn’t feel his legs.
