  Prompt Twenty-Seven- Drill Time This is something I've never done before. It's called a ninety second drill and I learned about it on creativewritingprompts.com. You have 90 seconds to write everything you can find in a hospital. Then after you've written them down, write a story using all of the words you wrote down. BUT, here's the catch, it cannot be set in, near or about a hospital. I have a feeling this is going to be a good one! Let's have fun with it. Ready, set, go! My response... Doctor Nurse Cot Needle IV Knife Monitor Patients Scissors Smell Pills Medicine Syringe People Sickness Death Tubes Sheets Sadness Hope Tears Robe That was actually very hard. I couldn't think despite the fact that I've frequented hospitals lately. I thought for sure this was going to be an easy one for me and it definitely wasn't. Let's see how my story goes. My house is a far cry from a home. My mother is hooked up to her monitorin the bedroom, the constant beeping now a normal thing ringing through the house. I push open the door to check on her and it smells like pure death. I don't know when she'll go, I guess we never do in these situations. Her cot is straight from the hospital, metal bars and all, and it pains me to see her in such a hostile position. The sheetsare draped loosely around her gaunt, shrinking body. The IV hangs from her hand down to the floor and then back up to where it's hooked in, recording her every movement. Her bathrobe is falling off her shoulder, and I step into the room to fix it. Sadness assaults me. I love my mother, don't get me wrong. But the sickness scares me, which is why I try to stay far away from her as possible. The doctors say it's because I know she's going to die so I'm trying to distance myself. One nurse even had the audacity to yell at me for not standing by my mother, but I told her off fast. Nobody knows what I'm going through. "Hi Honey," my mother coos from the bed. It's the first words she's said to me since we brought her home to die in peace. Her voice is shaky, her eyes tear-filled. My heart clenches in my chest. "Just coming in to fix you," I tell her, needing an excuse for some reason. "Thanks," she mutters, her head lolling to the side. But her chest is moving up and down so I know she's not gone yet. For some odd reason, it gives me hopethat she'll make it through this, but that's a dumb emotion. The doctors even said as much. After I fix her robe, she struggles to get comfortable after the pillow slips out from under her. I reach down to grab it but her tubes get wrapped around my arm by accident. When I pull back, I knock a pair of scissors from her bedside table. They clink down to where the rest on the wood floor. “I’m sorry, Mama,†I tell her, holding back my terror. I quickly pick up everything I knocked down and replace it on the table. Thankfully, the monitor beeps so I know I didn’t screw too much up. “I’m an easy patient. Just make sure the needlesin tight, please, so I get the medicine,†she begs me, her voice just barely over a whisper. I swear, every time it kills me to see her like this. “Now, go check on your brother.†I simply nod and retreat from her room. Truthfully, I couldn’t stand to be in there another second. From the smell to the feel of the room, it makes me nearly sick. I walk from her bedroom to the kitchen where my brother is chopping pills with a knife, using the flat side to crunch them down. There are people in the next room, most of whom I don’t know. My brother has taken my mother’s sickness differently than me. Instead of distancing himself and internalizing his grief, he’s turned to drugs to numb the pain. The guys in the living room are already high. I can tell by their dazed expressions and black eyes. Instead of being scared or surprised, I’m used to this as well. The beeping, the drugs, the grief—it’s all become a part of my daily life. My brother bends down and takes the powder into his nose in one swift inhale. I sort of hate him for leaving me alone with mom. He gets to party and have fun, while I’m stuck here leering in her door to make sure she’s still breathing. For once, I just want to forget. I want to be gone. I’m not sure in the end what made me chose to be lost but something clicks in my mind watching what’s going on around me. If my brother can forget and feel numb then I want that, too. Carter, my brother’s best friend is sitting in the living room. I go up to him since he’s the only guy I know well and take his hand in mine. I lead him to the bathroom and then lock the door behind us. I know his drug of choice—of course, he does what he does for reasons I’m not aware of—and I want it. “Please, Carter. I have to just go somewhere else. I hate feeling this,†I beg him, clenching his hand in mine. I bring it to my chest so he can feel my broken heart, barely beating. “You’re too good,†he tells me, his eyes softening. “I don’t want to be anymore. I don’t want to pretend we’re a family. I hate it. Please, or else I’ll do it alone.†He glares at me, his big blue eyes worried. “I don’t want to. I trust you to help me.†“Seriously?†he questions, his voice whiney. “Yes,†I tell him. “Hurry before my brother comes.†Once the syringefills me with emptiness, I’m gone. I finally get my reprieve from my life. I finally get a break from the horrors of my mother’s sickness and my brother’s addiction and my father’s absence. I’m free, if only for a short period of time.  Write your response in the comments section below or what you think of this prompt. Didn't like this prompt? Want to do another? Check out my other prompts... 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