"receptionist" poems
“Mr Pyre, come on through.”
“Pop your bottom in my chair.”
“Open wide, please Mr Pyre”
Mr Pyre shaking, quaking in his ***** boots.
Couldn’t bear the dentist.
Was so very scared.
Nurse pops on his cape.
So no dribble spilled.
Mr Pyre, the frightened patient.
Wasn’t very thrilled.
Dentist stuck his mirror in poor Mr Pyre’s mouth.
Sees nothing.
Shocked as no reflection seen.
Very discreet.
All knowing grin.
Working with vampires never ideal.
As Mr Pyre’s teeth they grew.
Leaped out of the chair.
Thought he’d have an early lunch.
Dentist was no more.
For lunch, Mr Pyre munched his dental man.
Ate the nurse, receptionist too.
Extracted his cape of plastic.
Restored his own.
Being a vampire, such a curse!
Then from the surgery he flew.
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 4:55 AM UTC
In the dark of night, in the middle of a storm
A dish falls, shatters
A shriek tears the relative silence
Pale pink blood blossoms in the water
While rich red blood wells up in the hand
Tears falling like a blinding waterfall
Stabs and throbs of aching stinging searing pain
Blood and pain and tears fill the mind
A flash of white tissue beneath the torrents of red
Panting sobs and hyperventilation
Panicking as victim is rushed to the ER
Mother tries to comfort daughter with story of healed,
Previously lacerated toes
Two words blurted between gasps of pain: NOT HELPING
Arrive to an empty lobby, excepting a nurse and receptionist
Focus on nothing, only the hand
The possible tendon torn, the skin shredded, the blood spilt
Dishtowel now soaking red irony fluid instead of clear soapy
The story repeated 6, 7, 8 times
A nurse asks if I smoke or drink
A radiologist asks if there is any chance for pregnancy
And for a moment I am shocked out of my pain into pondering
The corruption of the modern generations,
Such that I am asked these questions
Any friend of mine would quickly tell that
No, I'm not that kind of teenager... but how many are?
Then I am whisked from the x-ray room
Off for stitches, they say my tendon is cut
That I need stitches
The fingers no longer gush, but that triviality is soon remedied
A doctor probes the wound for shards
Nurse flushes it clean with chlorohexadine
Both renew the flow
Doctor returns, stitches both fingers and chats away
Grand tally of five stitches, a splint, blankets of guaze,
And a roll of medical tape
Prescriptions for pain meds and antibiotics, both given
A scoffing glance, but instructions are followed
Forbidden from any activity with the right hand by my mother
I struggle even to write, simple chores soon a nuisance
First time the splint and stitches are gone,
Doctor number two declares my hand usable
First time the little finger bends, the half healed skin splits
So all for a plate, a hand was rendered more useless
Nov 13, 2012
Nov 13, 2012 at 10:07 PM UTC
This letter, is to inform you, about a
bomb threat
that we received this, morning. Name of a Name
Unified Consolidated ISD,
a State-Recognized School of Somethingness,
Where Kids Come First under the theme of
All The Kids All The Curriculum All The Time
is committed, to the safety and education
of all our students and We Are Number One,
Go #Thundercatbears!, ‘Cause We are #All-Hashtagged
in Unity and Oneness. We also, want
to clearly communicate with split infinitives
And crazy commas all over the place
to parents about safety issues when they
get found out arise.
This morning, a phone call, was received,
by the receptionist at
The-Latest-Name-Held-in-Place-with-Velcro-Until-the-Next-Name-Change
Elementary School and Essential Spirit
Dreams New Dawn Progress Learning and
Technology Center of the Future
stating a
bomb
was present, on the campus.
After conferring with the Threat Assessment Team,
The Standard Response Protocol team,
the Chinkypin-Lizard Lick Police Department parked in the handicapped spaces at Tia Jolene’s Goremay Eats ‘n’ Bokays out next to the Interstate,
the cheerleader sponsors,
Facebook,
Twitter,
our attorneys,
and Superintendent Dr. Hamestus Goodoleboy “Spike” Ponsonby III,
the students were rapidly, and efficiently evacuated
to a safe area up in the football bleachers
where they would be more obvious targets
and the school was professionally and thoroughly
swept for anything suspicious and untoward.
During this time,
when no students were in danger,
another call was received stating that gunshots
were fired in the school. There were no gunshots,
fired in the school and
no children were in danger at any time.
Currently, we’re are is allowing students,
who were never in any danger,
to return to school as usual
where there was never any danger at any time.
We will have extra counselors and therapists available
if students or parents needs supports are
counsolining in spelling ‘n’ sentence structure.
The students were never in any danger at any time.
All threats to our school where
their was never any danger
and students who were never in any danger
will be taken seriously immediately
and thoroughly and investigated
thoroughly and fully except for that call
last week that we managed to keep covered up.
We wanted to inform you of the correct facts
because our correct facts are the only facts
so you can discuss them with your child/ren
Of any race, *** color, creed, religion,
or gender identification or not
and emphasize the seriousness of our facts,
which are the only facts. If you discover
Any facts untoward or out of place please contact us
At the district office at
*** *** xxxx ext ***
or the Chinkypin - Lizard Lick Police Department
immediately and thoroughly.
No children were in, danger at any time.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
A Secretary-Receptionist Faces the Future - “I Know Where the Door Is, You Little Police Academy Dropout.”
The name on the building changed again today
I must apply for my own job, they say
A smarmer wants more work for much less pay
It’s time to reconstruct my resume’
I once was great with videotape and film
And could type fifty-five words a minute
On an IBM Selectric; my skills are dim
The boy-boss taps on a plastic box - what’s in it?
For forty years I ruled the company’s ground floor -
Security, with a sneer, shows me the door
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 4:07 PM UTC
There’s plenty of flesh on her finger,
sagging, loose, folded ,
crumpled at the knuckle.
The nail is peach, white at the tip
manicured, manufactured; plastic.
She reaches out towards a musty key.
The greyish, flesh-coloured cube
awaits her touch.
She withdraws from her ******
her finger folds away with the rest.
Reassured, she begins again.
Her fat stub hovering
over the scrabble of letters
With a satisfied click
the key flattens into the board.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 6:19 PM UTC
porcupine, devil's receptionist,
your splinters are aching again.
manifested figure, you are alien.
more so are your actions.
I am thoroughly impressed
by the displays of your affections
boldly handing them to me,
so rudely beautiful, and my limbs
are too shocked for movement.
each layer within me shifts,
black goes grey, blue goes green,
brown goes red and gold, weeds
become sunflowers, the ground below
us begins to heave, volcanoes splinter
and split down their middles, ridges
of lava gasping for air, bubbling, black to grey to white
to blue and purple fire. sweat, we sweat but we don't catch flame.
sweat, and I am liquid at last.
sweet,
considering possibilities,
shuffling my vocabulary like cards in a deck,
preparing myself for the most difficult game life could offer,
preparing myself in tender fragments of flaky crystal.
words become thin glass in my mind, and I
begin to feel the cuts in my throat,
climbing up my tongue trying to create some movement,
even if that movement is pain.
movement has suddenly shook my bones out of their choke hold.
I gasp for air, grasp on to what you hold out.
your outline against my insides at last, your third eye cracked open
and I see behind and through the meshing that takes place. I see so
much that I am blind, torn with black and white.
I close my eyes with good intention:
I am black.
more dark than thorn roofed ships,
smashing against waves made of shadow.
I open my eyes with impression and find you white.
more white than the ghosts in my bones,
winter shivers back with thoughts of you.
I close my eyes with good intention.
I tire more and more
my head weighs down
with all the color.
I want no more black or white.
you tire more and more
your head weighed down
by holding your colors in.
we become tectonic
and all goes grey.
ashes of what we felt that day
aches of what we did
morning reaches my empty lids,
you've taken all I could say with
your silence. a plague. a bartenders keep.
I saw you again before the moon,
I even saw you standing beneath it's reflection,
staring.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
This things are made for idling
transparent in their quotidian splendor:
A Buddha statue at the receptionist desk
golden skin, red robes
welcoming all yogis with its gaze
eyelids closed
The candle, a guardian of an aim
an intention that moves within a flame
over the palms of the wooden hands
Incense smoke dance softly around the entrance
like a dream seen from wakefulness
immersive enhancer of the humor
filling the place with soft calmness
Nag champa smell
and serious air
The bamboo doors
from Monday to Sunday
open the way to Indian sounds
and the voices of blooming teachers
guide the way
until shavasana
when practitioners become gently moving statues
and glowing air goes
breathing in and breathing out
daily efforts and daily hopes.
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
The counsellors office has always been uneasy
and the chairs always too cold
always a small breeze with the windows
not even cracked open.
This was the newest patients second visit,
everything was casual,
routine questions,
just another average case
but then there was a sudden silence,
the patient became curious and fidgety,
the counsellor sat waiting, watching.
"uh, doc. I know this isn't your dance
or anything,
but do you feel that?"
It had gotten the slightest bit colder
but that was usual
in these 2 decade old buildings.
"feel what, kiddo?"
"That!"
the patient standing now,
was pointing to the door,
as the violent ghosts swooped in
attacking them both,
too much blood and two mangled bodies
on the floor,
the receptionist didn't even hear a scream.
With the next appointment,
the receptionist walked in
getting a mouthful
of that putrid metal-blood taste.
I guess even buildings have a tormenting past.
Jul 30, 2012
Jul 30, 2012 at 10:22 AM UTC
The young receptionist
suddenly crossed her legs
behind the window
of the waiting room of my love,
smacked her gum
and said promise not to leave,
always come back if you do,
even if we give you bad news
for the rest of your life.
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 5:48 PM UTC
on a dark desert highway, hot fart-wind in my hair
with a warm smell of diarrheoa rising up through the air
I was scared of pant-crapping on that starry starry night
my belly heavy and my sphincter groaned in pain
I had to stop for a *****
there she stood in the doorway, the receptionist from hell,
and I was thinking to myself what a ******* smell,
then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
I rushed into the bathroom shrieking, hey,
I need to pump it out.
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
now my bot is oozing brownly, it's got the mercedes bends;
I'd better wash it for the sake of her pretty boy friends
dancing in the courtyard, k-y jelly in their pockets,
some dancing in the **** some in their jockeys.
so I called up the waiter, please bring a bucket of wine;
he said: we haven't had such a ****** here since eighteen forty nine,
and then I got hold of this cute looking guy
who was a ******* great fairy
and he showed me his **** so hairy
probably laiden with a.i.d.s. ....
welcome to the hotel california;
such a lovely toilet;
be careful don't soil it
with an ill-timed **** splatter;
any time of year, it don't ******* matter.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
for my dad
I crack myself up,
twice
once, at the doctor's office,
a steady stream of me~repartee
made the waiting room, the warring harried receptionist,
and ultimately herr doktor, his royal himself, as well,
somewhere combobulated, somewhere beware and between chuckling to uproarious clutching their sides,
and many stations/gradations in between
finally the teary eyed doc inquired not how
but why I do it,
well, replied I,
somewhat of a family tradition,
doing waiting room shtick,
because the sound of infectious laughter,
fills in the cracks quite nicely
where you cut me open, and also drains away
the deposits of chemotherapy poisoned sinful residuals
just a tad quicker,
and that is why I crack myself up first,
when I boldly look in the mirror and
laugh at the silly scarecrow I have become
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 6:44 PM UTC
Hell will be a waiting room
You’re sitting in an uncomfortable chair
With dingy magazines five months old
The couples on the covers have split
Someone has already torn out the coupons, filled in the quizzes and crosswords
Twelve letters across another word for your damnation?
The answer scrawled out in red ink
Anticipation
Waiting for the news that is never going to come
Waiting
That anticipation is worse than the diagnoses
You could have five months to live this afterlife
Five weeks
Five hours
You could drop undead in the middle of that waiting room
Where no one would do a ******* thing
Because God doesn’t dwell down here
Here the devil is king
And then it begins again
A different waiting room
The same dingy magazines
Except this one smells like a dentist’s office
You’ll just sit
Wait
The walls read
If you have been waiting more than fifteen minutes please notify the receptionist
Alert staff if you are experiencing flu-like symptoms
HAIL SATAN
Thank you for not smoking
No smoking
No talking
No texting tweeting or reading
Waiting
Just Waiting
In this ***** dusty hell of a room
Please take a seat
A nurse will call you to the back shortly
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 2:50 PM UTC
fall through the floor of the elevator,
held up by corkscrew works:
here it is quiet and
there is invisible fog and
the characters are dull replicas
save for the receptionist,
just a lonely purple and orange
painted singular eye,
and her assistant, the trace.
*when I've found someone
I feel even lonelier
to know how hollow they are,
just presets and language*
and there is
a terrible hole
in the vents,
or the attic,
where
everything leaches out
to the colourless
uncreated
nothing.
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 6:23 AM UTC
The south african student. Abroad in the states. A holiday of quotas. This moment, falling into the pools of whole ethics. Difference in bothers. Perception of the receptionist.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 3:22 PM UTC
Yes you read the title right
But let me shred some light
It happened in 1980 when I worked on Madison Avenue
The Receptionist was going to buy live crab for dinner
Well as a friend would, I accompanied her
We entered the Butcher, and there were array of kinds of meat and live ***** on Eighth Avenue and West 43rd Street
The Receptionist was going to eat good that night was going to be a treat
The Butcher put 8 Live ***** in the bag
It’s a wonder that none of the ***** had to gag
So walked to 6th Avenue to catch the D train
The continued story gets to be even more insane
One of the ***** escaped out
Some of the passengers made big scream shout
You can imagine in what I am talking about
It was dinner on the run
This was a live crab raw and not even cooked done
I told the Receptionist, there goes your dinner after it
When the Receptionist got home, she cooked those ***** until they were done
But before that, they fought out the bag
It sounds more like they were playing tag
There’s the sea food tail, ***** in their crabby ways, and I will never forget on that day.
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 6:39 PM UTC
When I was just a child, they were just a married couple;
Older, middle-aged, nothing distinguishing about them at all.
I loved swimming in their swimming pool,
Until they upsized, to a glitzy neighborhood of rambling,
Ranch-style houses.
And they upscaled, to exotic, foreign vacations.
Brought me back a Hawaiian volcanic stone, with emerald flecks,
A salt and pepper shaker set from Israel.
She was a clothes horse, always kept her figure,
Dressed slinky but classy, for an old babe;
Visibly stood taller, if another woman
Ever complimented her clothing or style-
And they invariably did.
My dad said that when alone with her husband,
That man would brag about daily ********
From his office receptionist, at the end of the workday
Before going home. I was older then, tried to imagine
How the shared exchange could have furthered
Some ancient, nightly excavated ambition?
Alone with her once, my dad said he made an innuendo,
Some playful joke which he had since forgotten the point of,
Probably due to the more stunning reaction it caused.
He had always loved teasing with words,
But he said that she had dropped all suggestion of pretense,
And she had told him then, You couldn't handle it..
He still chuckled about it, long after the fact.
Funny how for all those years, what I remembered seeing
Was a mostly colorless couple
Who always drove large Cadillacs.
And how in the later years, he could only move
While tethered to his oxygen tank,
Though it never hindered his smoking.
Aug 23, 2010
Aug 23, 2010 at 12:11 PM UTC
oh, the things you hear at the doctors'
the elderly man with melanoma on his face
trudging out behind his wife
mumbling **** under his breath
the sweet weathered receptionist
says "nice to see you again!"
to her seventieth geriatric patient
there comes a day
when her patients quit calling
quit showing up
and she has fewer and fewer people
to recognize
ugh
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
Arriving for medical appointment today:
Richard to Receptionist: "Richard Riddle for 3:30 appointment with Dr. Beersmell."
Receptionist: "He's not in today. He's ill."(Brushing hair off of forehead)
Richard: "I know this is probably a silly question, but why didn't someone call me earlier so I wouldn't have had to drive ten miles?"
Receptionist: Long pause......"I forgot."(Brush-Brush)
Richard: I'll reschedule when he comes back. Thank you, Amber!
copyright: richard riddle 04-22-2015
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 1:31 AM UTC
A fortnight ago an Algerian masseuse anointed each note of my joints,
spread thumbed cursive over my shoulders and
back around to my chest;
she spelt out how I'd be shivering now knowing you were leaving.
And last week you led me to an acupuncturist where he said,
Rob Frost had quit his job on point duty to become a receptionist instead.
I knew it was ******** by the way you barked in the background.
I knew it was wrong from the rumble through the stud wall,
sound of timpani, of gusto's drawl ringing in my ears:
the resonance of windfall if saved 'in the best ISA for years!'
This has been the best February since records began
and I thank you for being a friend.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 2:31 PM UTC
This one is for the mothers
For the sisters of yesterdays husbands
For the girls I'll never know
This one is for the stranger
In the grocery store
Slamming down the apples
Hoping they bruise as much
As he bruised her
Because we're all just
Rotten produce in the long run
Anyway
This one is for the CEO of Corporate America
That cheats at the office
And at life
That skips the basketball games
Of sons that weren't really his
In the first place
To work extra hours
Triple over time
Which is really just code for
Bonking the receptionist
On the table in the lobby area
And she'll think slyly
While he pulls her hair
*Enjoy the ******
*******
This one is for those sad eyes
I pass every day
Holding out a tin can
Jingling to the beat
Of copper plated plastic
Or whatever the ****
Our money is made from,
These days
Screaming for change
And I always saunter by
With a pocket full of pennies
Thinking
I wish I could give him
The kind of change
He really needs
This one is for the alcoholic
Better known as my brother
This is for the man that still tries
To drink away his heartache
With a case of Natty Ice
For the man who can't
Hang on to a dollar
More than a minute
Because he can't take the money
With him to heaven
Or to hell, probably hell,
And tomorrow was never really
Promised to us,
Was it?
This one is for the woman
Who spent thirty years
Behind a register
Pretending it wasn't really
All that her life
Had to offer
This is for the woman
With the thinnest skin
I've ever seen
The woman who let the world
Break her
On a daily basis
This one is for
My mother
This one is for that ****** up girl
Who is beginning to think
That love and hate
Are the same emotion
With different masks
For the girl who always wanted
A drug addiction
To blame her problems on
For the girl who never gave up
On anyone
But herself
This one, this is for the girl
That writes to no one
This is for the girl with no goals
No ambition
No dreams
This one is for the girl
With a broken heart
And a broken smile
Wondering what she did
To deserve this life
This one, this poem
Is the only one
I've ever written
For me
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
when critique is about, the unsuspecting walk like peacocks, showing off the wooden dutch slacks of fear prior to criticism, forging a proof of god so debased that it would require the holocaust to have taken place.
- yes, this call is immediate, what's the severity?
- immediacy in all circumstances.
- sounds terrible.
- yep, blood in my **** too.
- ooh, dialectical diarrhoea?
- skidding at one hundred miles per hour with a popsicle swerve on the slurp.
- trafalgar sq. fountains?
- lions roaring in alabaster to the breaking of bony hinges.
- triage.
- can i see him face to face.
- no, you need to speak to him first via the triage telephone system.
- so he's the now receptionist and knows the daybreak slots with chemical compounds.
- no, thingy thingy, dum dum **** a toe, crackle fun pull a twig: we're
the receptionists, he prioritises the eventuality of a cancer advert.
- three quid down the drain?
- yes, we, the receptionists of the world will stand against the robotic onslaught!
- ****** on winter sledges.
- exactly.
- not exactly, you, receptionist, you jane, me tarzan, you book face to face, now.
- you tarzan, you straighten bananas.
- you jane, you book, appointment.
- you tarzan, you straighten bananas.
- you jane, you book, appointment, now.
- me jane, me receptionist, me on the conveyor belt of corn crop patched harvestable.
- me i.q.
- me one hundred and fifteen.
- face to face to farce.
- farce to bloke to pole.
- pole leaning on a pole.
- englishman eating a napkin.
- blackjack and ingredients for the pride of britain: vindaloo child.
- sloshed on a cricketeer's return.
- puns and cardamon cardigans of colour without scent.
- pushy apple sours coloured acid green without the mojo juice.
- spank that gimp ***** into a piglet.
- leathered up, boots on parole.
(who the hell is talking now?)
- i need to see the doctor face to face, i need my sick note to live on:
on brink of day in ultraviolet twilights, and drink.
- are you a banker?
- i'm a sick man, a beggar.
- we only provide sickness to the rich and famous.
- so what do i get?
- premature death.
- oh, can i have a bank account with that?
- oh sure, as long as you can accept debt.
- 5% like standard a.e.r.?
- no, 2000%
- so my debt interest will be crazy dizzy above my savings interest rate?
- yes.
- do you sell *** positive syringes?
- we're accommodating.
- thank you very much.
- thank you.
- goodbye morrow and marrow tight.
- bones ashore.
- **** all ahoy.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 12, 2015 at 8:58 PM UTC
I walked
Down the stairs,
Deciding
That the elevator
Would take
Too long
And just be
A waste
Of my time
The day was done
Nothing else
Was left
For me to do
All I needed
To do
Was go home
I stopped by
The receptionist's desk
With brown eyes
And red hair,
She smiled at me
And I smiled back
Those beautiful glasses
In front of those wonderful eyes
I stopped to wonder
How I hadn't noticed her before
It's probably
Because I've been busy
I don't have time
To mingle
But maybe once
I could take some time
To talk
With this wonderful woman
Behind this wooden desk
It could be nice
To spend time
With someone else,
But I'll never know
If I never try
I always like to imagine
But some times it's better
To live it
Jan 12, 2016
Jan 12, 2016 at 9:28 PM UTC
I sit in an ordinary seat
in an ordinary office
with an ordinary will to live
and a cactus
I am surrounded by people with ordinary habits
and clothes
the window is opened at the usual angle
and the volume of the ringer is on default
we look at each other in an ordinary way
(No love/ no anger with a dash of hope)
we have families, lovers and cats in ordinary numbers
(They calmly invade our minds on our tea-break)
we work shoulder to shoulder sweating
with no fear of Evil or God
we have no ink in the printer, no problems, no money
no elevator
we have similar names, ordinary haircuts and shoes
we have a receptionist who eats carbs
the second floorboard, the one on the right as you come in after you punch the code and give it a good tug
is squicking
I am told that’s new
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 3:09 PM UTC
Man looked at his wife as they were passing the crowd in the airport. She was enthusiastically chatting and laughing with their friends. If it was not for her deep desperation to have a baby, and her frustration with all their unsuccessful attempts at it, he could swear she is the happiest woman in the world.
Their friends, , a young couple from their home country, were also on their way back home for a short visit.Initially, they were going to change their flights in the airport. Their next flight was delayed, however, and now they had to spend the night in the city. Their friends had decided to stay in the city a couple of days and attend a wedding. He knew that his wife wanted to go to the wedding too, but they were not invited.
They all shared a cab to a nearby hotel and casino. As they walked up to the reception desk, he grew more and more paranoid about giving their personal information and credit card to the receptionist. He pretended that they were looking for a jazz club in that area. His wife and their friends were puzzled but they did not say anything. As they were leaving the hotel, he realized that their friends needed to stay somewhere for a couple of nights and were willing to get a room and share. But it was too late: they said goodbye and separated.
The next morning the two of them decided to walk in the city and do some sightseeing. They soon found empty streets and a city that looked like it was hit by a disease. The man felt more and more uncomfortable and wish they had known where their friends had stayed. At noon, he suddenly remembered that they were supposed to take a morning flight. Surprisingly, he did not feel any urgency. He continued walking the empty streets but his wife went back to the hotel. At night, he was even more surprised to see that his wife was pregnant, almost nine month.
Next morning, the man went out alone. The city had become a war zone. Tanks and militants were roaming around everywhere. In a few instances, he had to escape some of them who were trying to arrest him, and even got into a fight. He went back home in the evening to find out that his wife had delivered the baby.
As he was watching his wife carrying the baby around and kissing the baby passionately, he suddenly realized what was going on. They were dead. That would explain all the strange things that had happened in the past couple of days. The man suddenly felt a deep comfort from solving the puzzle. He could almost feel an excitement, similar to that time, a few years back, when he accidentally hit a man on the street while driving and almost killed him.
Satisfied with his discovery, he looked up and watched his wife playing with the baby. What an irony, he thought. She looked so happy and peaceful. He could break the news to her later.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 1:57 PM UTC