edith zimmerman

A very short story.

“I’m bleeding really bad,” I said to the person on 911 who picked up the phone. “I’m standing in a bucket, and it’s already almost all the way filled up with blood.”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“Why am I standing in a bucket? To catch the blood, obviously. What am I going to do, let it flow onto the floor?”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“Of course I put bandages over the wound—what am I, an idiot?”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“You shut up.”

Squawk squawk squawk.

“Oh, you jerk, that’s not nice. I’m hurt!” I started to cry.

Squawk squawk squawk.

I cried more loudly. “Now the bucket is running over onto the floor! Are you happy now? Are you thrilled?” I sobbed.

Squawk squawk squawk.

“I said, ‘Now the bucket is overflowing, you jackass!!’” I sobbed even harder, just feeling absolutely horrible.

Squawk squawk squawk.

By this point I was so weak that all I could do was whimper “Nuh-uh” and drop the phone into the bucket with a plop.

This entry was posted on Friday, October 16th, 2009 at 4:11 pm and is filed under fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.