PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford
On the Set
Beating his chest and raising his middle finger in defiance he roared, “You got your movie now I get the girl.”
He cradled the limp cargo in the nest of his elbow and stroked her silken curls; so beautiful, so fragile.
“Put down your weapons and read the contract, Asshats.”
A brief shout out to PETA for Friday Fictioneers. To read more flash fiction go here.
Photo Credit @Ted Strutz
A Bouquet in Place
by Tracey Delaplain
I wrinkled my nose and let a faint grimace escape.
“It’s death,” said the astute nurse, “you never really get used to the smell.”
“But this patient is alive,” I replied.
“In name only, Doc. Her vessel is dying cell by cell,” she tapped her nose, “never lies.”
“Get well soon Gram,” read the typewritten note on the bouquet.
“Sad, dying alone with only a bouquet to mark her passing. I’ll hold space with her, but those have to go, can’t stand the stench of guilt. Flowers are a poor substitute for caring.”
I read a very interesting essay last year by Heather Plett about what it means to “hold space” with another person. Here is a brief explanation in her own words.
What does it mean to hold space for someone else? It means that we are willing to walk alongside another person in whatever journey they’re on without judging them, making them feel inadequate, trying to fix them, or trying to impact the outcome. When we hold space for other people, we open our hearts, offer unconditional support, and let go of judgement and control.
Physicians are rarely in a position of “holding space”. We are trained to fix problems. When a patient is dying our instinct is to keep fixing them, sometimes beyond reason. I have learned over the years that sometimes it’s ok to just be with a dying patient. It’s a privilege that not many people experience. The concept of “holding space” is usually reserved for the living but sitting vigil at another’s death is in fact “holding space”.
For more sweet smelling 100 word stories visit Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for Friday Fictioneers.
I have moved my writing to this new blog. Feel free to follow me here or at WhatsForDinnerDoc.com . WhatsForDinnerDoc is undergoing an identity crisis with flash fiction battling recipes and healthy living rants.
Photo credit : Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
For more Friday Fictioneers go here
“Mother, you won’t need all of this crap. Now please pack your clothing in the designated bin.”
“This is my home.”
“We’ve talked about this a million times.”
No talking, just lectures and plans “for my own good”.
“The river is dangerous.”
I taught you to swim here.
“God, what are all these dust collectors? Hand me the trash bin.”
Just memories: my father’s clock, vases from a lover, a sailboat from my dead son.
Memories that even you can’t take away from me.
“Yes, dear. Now why are we packing?”