Short Story Competition 1 (Kim) - Results HERE!

pickarooney

During the month of March, we asked boardsies to come up with a short story of roughly 1000 words, based on a brief outline:

There's a medical student, Kim, queueing at the post office when a middle-aged man with a green jacket collapses in a heap in front of one of the counters. Kim has failed four second year exams and is just about ready to drop out completely. Somebody asks if there's a doctor in the house. Kim hesitates about going to help or waiting for an ambulance.

The original thread is here, for those who missed it first time around.

Eighteen boards members submitted stories and you can read them all in this thread. For the next ten days, we're asking you to vote for the best of the bunch and choose the winner, who will receive a copy of Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style, which was the inspiration for the competition.

All entries will be posted anonymously for the duration of the contest and the authors revealed at the end. Contestants, please resist the temptation to respond to questions on your stories or defend them until voting is over, so as to retain anonymity and fairness for all.

You may vote for as many entries as you like, but we would ask you to please provide feedback on the story or stories for which you vote and for as many of those for which you didn't vote as you can. Don't hold back if you have negative criticism, but please make sure any and all feedback is in some way constructive. Voting is public, and votes without a post in the thread will be ignored.

Voting will open today once all stories are up and will end at 9AM on the 11th of April. Winner will be announced on Monday 12th once all invalid votes have been discarded.

Best of luck to all involved and thanks in advance to those who take the time to read and rate the entries.

pickarooney

Version 17

Trains

…Typical symptoms of cardiac arrhythmia not specifically life-threatening, unless left untreated, Cardia arrhythmia can lead to more fatal forms of rhythm disturbance... TEFL maybe. I could do a year or two in South America, you don’t have to be in medicine to travel around, help people…


…€75. Seventy five bloody euro, as if I didn’t have enough money running through my bloody fingers. Bloody kids… If I catch them… I know who did it as well, that smarmy, sly little ****. Jesus H €75 for that amount of work is a scandal… Their bloody parents should be paying for it…


…never, ever, ever again am I drinking on a work night. 10 minutes, then SuperMacs, double bacon cheeseburger and a large coke…


…a year there. Or maybe Asia. It would mean leaving Alan… But sure that’s going nowhere and he’ll be out on placements soon anyway… Or he could come too? I could always come back and retrain; physio, radiographer. Could do that anyway…


…now that is a nice arse. I’ll bet she’s really good in…


…no air in these places, always bloody hot. And of course she blames me...€75 though in fairness, lumps off the lumps sum. If I ever caught our two doing that sort of thing I’d string them up…


“Who’s next there, please?”


“Hi, I need to take €75 out of this account”


…I wonder what kind of knickers she’s wearing…either those boy short ones or a bit of a lacy g string I betcha…If she’d turn a bit I’d see what kinda boobs she has…


…Standard clinical treatments of cardiac arrhythmia include electric treatments... Dad would do one though…Mammy will just do that big eyed thing again, the “I’m so disappointed but won’t tell you” thing, I could do without that…


…uuugghhh I hate this, he really doesn’t look in the form for this and neither am I….


“Ahhh, I’m sorry there are insufficient funds in that account for a €75 withdrawal”


…please don’t make a fuss… five more minutes and it’s lunch, double bacon cheeseburger and a large coke….


…oh Christ no… There has to be money in there…why is it so hot in here …


“Are you looking at the right account? It’s the savings one, not the current account”


…life by proxy anyway…”make the most of your brains and your opportunities, we didn’t all have them you know”…


…looks like a student…I’ve never had a student…


…you’re broke, now piss off and let me have my lunch….


…getting her mammies hand out money ready to party for the weekend… dirty weekend with the boyfriend, I wonder if she has ever…


…there has to be money in there, ****, ****, ****, indigestion now as well, that's all I need...he’s waiting for the money, the bloody work is done...


“I’m sorry but both accounts are at their limits, is there another account I can try for you?”


…Asia has great beaches…Me and Alan, Thailand…


…bacon double cheeseburger….


“Are you sure?”


…coke..lots of ice….


…the durty bitch, I’ll bet she loves…


“****! Sorry! **** – are you alright?”


…What is keeping that guy…oh my god…


…don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die ….


“Call an ambulance, quick, a doctor, anyone here a doctor?”


…That’s a cardiac arrest…


“Call an ambulance please, urgently. Does this building have an AED?”


…that hurts…I can’t be sick the dog’s tied up outside…


“Stand clear please let’s give him room to breath, Sir, can you hear me? Sir? He’s unresponsive I’m starting CPR”


…I am doing a first aid course as soon as I can ….


…if she leans over a bit more I’ll see her knickers…


…it’s stopped hurting…

pickarooney

Version 17

Reasons.

Three years of his life and all he has to show for it is a thin manilla envelope stuffed within the folds of his jacket, containing a declaration, a request and a statement. But more significant than what it encloses is what it doesn't.

To,
The Dean,

Dear Sir,
This is to respectfully request...

Kim hunches his shoulders forward, compacting his large frame as the wind and the rain pummel him relentlessly. He quickens his pace, nearly slipping on the ashen, wet leaves carpeting the footpath. A sharp turn and he's inside, uncoiling, straightening, dripping, running a hand through a mop of sandy hair, and immediately irritated to see a long queue snaking between the sagging green ropes. Who goes to the post office on a day like this? What's your hurry Kim? Where the **** do you have to go? Then he realizes, it's Wednesday, they're here for the dole.

Unzipping his jacket, Kim pulls out the envelope. Holding it in both hands he stares at the plain covering, as if reading the contents within by x-ray vision.

It is with deep regret that I must...

He's jolted by a loud scream.

'Peter! Oh my god, Peter!'

A young woman kneels over a fallen man, her blonde curls in disarray. She's gripping his shoulders so tight the whites of her knuckles are showing. 'Peter!' There's no response. 'Somebody help! Please!'

'Call 999,' says an elderly gentlemen as he crouches beside the girl. 'Is there a doctor here?' Several mobiles are raised.

Kim isn't one of those spurred into action. He's part of the crowd, leaning a little, looking, despite himself. The older man, probably mid-late 50's is loosening Peter's collar.

'Give him some air! Take a step back, everybody.' Everybody takes a step back.

Shouldn't he be helping? But the call was for a doctor. Not a washed up medical student, on the verge of quitting. And what was that they said in ethics, one of the few lectures he did attend. If you announce yourself as a physician, not only are you obliged to help, you are liable. But are you obliged to announce yourself? Besides, modern medicine wasn't about instant diagnosis and miraculous intervention. You needed x-rays, CTs, ECGs, blood tests; you need a team, interns, SHOs, registars, nurses, a consultant. Does he have any idea where to begin? He still remembers some basic first aid. ABCD. Airway, breathing, circulation, danger. Move the patient into a recovery position.

What would cause a seemingly healthy, middle-aged man to suddenly collapse without warning? Surely if he had a pre-existing medical condition his female companion would have mentioned it by now. But she seems just as paralysed as he is. List the differential diagnosis in order of frequency. Myocardial infarction, stroke... there must be more, but none occur to Kim. And while these thoughts and arguments rush about in his mind, his feet remain firmly planted. There's nothing he can do that hasn't already been done. He's more likely to get in the way...

Yet there's a compulsion that Kim is finding difficult to ignore. A rising courage he did not know he possessed. All his reasons, all his fears melt away. He takes a step forward, begins to extend his hand. But before he can utter a word, a young woman, in a sharp blue suit that matches her eyes pushes her way through the crowd.

'I'm a doctor, what happened here?' She wasn't in the post office before. He'd have noticed someone as pretty as her. She must have been going past and noticed the commotion through the window.

The girlfriend/wife utters something incomprehensible, but the doctor nods. She's already got a plan of action, doing everything at once. Opening his shirt, checking his pulse, leaning in close.

'Has someone called an ambulance? What's his name?'

'Peter!'

'Hello, Peter. Can you hear me?' Her blue eyes fix on his chest.

She spreads one hand over his ribcage, on the left side, anatomical right side, Kim. With the middle finger of the other she taps it, precussing for chest sounds. Resonant or dull? He's not sure.

'He's got air around the lung. How long for the ambulance?'

'Ten minutes,' someone calls out.

She shakes her head. Then seems to make a decision. 'I need a sharp byro.'

The patting of pockets resounds around the room like a nervous ovation. Several pens are held out. She quickly chooses one. Kim tries to recall the signs of a tension pneumothorax as she unscrews it. Then he notices how the man's chest is oddly shaped. How, the right side, anatomical right, is hyper-expanded.

Her fingers are running along the ribs. Above the rib below. She picks her spot and with a clenched fist jabs the pen in. It takes two vicious stabs before it seems to break through. Was there a soft hiss? Kim isn't sure. There's blood leaking from the wound but the man's chest seems to be deflating. And now, with the timing of a Hollywood spectacle, an ambulance siren wails in the distance, drawing closer.

Half an hour later, the man in front of him finally steps up to the counter. It's Kim's turn next. Shouldn't he have been inspired by what had just happened? Surely, it was some kind of sign. What was it all his girlfriends said before storming off. That he was apathetic, cold, callous. And on the evidence of today, would he have to admit that that they were right? If only his father had been a drunk; or he'd been bullied at school; if only, he'd been ugly or stupid; or simply poor. For three years he'd searched for a reason. Because why wouldn't you want to be a doctor? To be liked, respected and well paid. To help people? Isn't 600 points in the leaving reason enough? But as he hands over the envelope and requests next day delivery from the lady behind the counter, Kim still has no answer.

pickarooney

Version 17

Shuffle

Shuffle forward. Shuffle the deck.
The queue for the inches forward, old folk collecting their scraps of pensions, some patiently waiting to have their only conversation of the week. Kim, out of place amongst the old and infirm is self absorbed, thinking about another bad beat in the student bar last night, thinking about failing, thinking about Saundra. His thoughts in turmoil, roiling over and over like floodwaters.
The moment was there for him to cease. It was all there in the pot for the taking. Hesitation. The 'tell' shows. Lost. Shuffle the cards.
The moment was there for him to cease. 'Make a commitment Kim' she said. 'Don't you love me?' she asked. ‘Is this all we are after 2 years?’ Hesitation. Lost.
Shuffle forward.
The moment was there for him to cease. 'Game on Kim, you playing?' he asked. Study? Hesitation. Game on. Again. Riffle the cards. Deal the hand. Play the hand. Hesitation. Lose.
Shuffle the cards. Shuffle forward.
Begging letter held tightly in Kim’s hand, pleading for an extra injection of cash to get through the next few weeks. Failing? Two years of medical school and what to have to show for it? A taste for poker, and debts, a failed relationship, lost friends, lost time, lost money, lost respect.
Don’t you love me?" she asked. Pain.
Hesitation. Pain in the arse being here, shuffling forward. Bad beat last night. Should'a raised. Should’a said I love you. Should’a studied. Should’s could’a would’a.
The old man in the queue wore the green blazer well, brass buttons still shining, pocket crest displaying the name of the golf society proudly worn over a rotund overweight body. Red-faced.
Shuffle forward.
Worry about the coming winters fuel bills. Worry about how the committee will deal with Harry O’Brian cheating in last weekends turkey shoot competition. Worry about the grandsons aspergers. Worry about, worry about…wonder about the uncomfortable pain. Pain in the arm. Pins & needles. Pain in the chest. Can't breath. Can't stand. Reach for the shelf for support. Fall. Collapse. Poleaxed. Felled. Pain. Can’t breath. Whats happening? Oh **** not now not nownotnow. Jesus help me. Oh God. Fingers clenching in pain, body curled up into a tight foetus, eyes screwed shut.
The noise of the fall cuts through Kims reverie.
The Oh **** the oul fella is down. He's pulled down a stack of large sliced pans on himself. Hesitation.
The crowd surrounds the old man, shuffles forward to watch the death throes dispassionately. Inevitable. Longed for? Curiously drawn to watch. And Kim stands amongst them, watching.
Do something. Do Something. DO SOMETHING! Years of medical lectures mean nothing. Hour after hour after hour of memorising the anatomy of the hand, the workings of the nervous system, the muscular system, the lymphatic, Endocrine and Urinary systems all mean nothing.
DO SOMETHING!
Kim watches as panic fills the young staff of the post office. Kim watches the old folk accept the inevitable. Kim see himself reflected in the toughened glass of the post office counter and he sees his own despised hesitation.
Shuffle back, shuffle out of the crowd.
Shuffle away from the responsibility.
Shuffle under the weight of self loathing.
Mortal coil. Shuffle.
Poker. Shuffle.
Future? Hesitation.
Shuffle away too racked with self pity to worry about some old fart in a green blazer.

pickarooney

Version 17

Too Cold. Too cold...
"Creature, did you stick on the emersion?"
Lukewarm. Better. Kim filled the sink and cupped the water in her hands to wash her face. New face. New day.
"I did, and I put out the bins, and I have all your clothes drying outside." Silence. "Beside the bins".
"Thanks Creature, for everything, you thick ****t"
A grin broke across Kim’s face, thwarting the downward trend of all her features, due to the water dripping off her eyebrows, nose and chin. It was her second year sharing with her two housemates, Creature and Melissa. Their personalities gelled enough so that morning blues were just bubbles waiting to be burst by their first idiotic mutterings to each other. That’s how she got through college. The antithesis to the scientific rationale of her studies: Medicine. Maybe that’s why she had failed each semester first time around also, but she never made that link.


She threw up another double handful of murky water to cleanse herself of yesterday and last night. Too hot. She padded her eyes and nose with a towel before taking a long gaze in the mirror into the one little vein channelling its way across her left eye to meet her iris.
“Get your groove on.”
“No, you get your groove on”, came a more aggressive reply.
Whincing, now pouting her lips;
“You get your groove on.”
Kim deepened her voice and replied once more to her own reflection,
“I command you to get your groove on.”
“I say when and where grooves are brought....”
A rough knock on the door announces Melissa, none too impressed and sporting little of the early enthusiasm of her housemates.
“Get out of here...I could make a fortune out of you, like some psychological Barnum’s freak show”.
“Melissa, my dear woman, you are a citizen who just has no, yes you guessed it, no groove” Kim laughed, hopped to the hallway, spent a few minutes in front of a broken hallway mirror and swung down an overly steep stairway and outside.

Kim searched for loose change. She knew this bus driver didn’t need even a breadth of friendly acknowledgement. For that matter, he was eternally embroiled in the same debate on his Bluetooth, to a girlfriend. Kim passed and sat on the outside edge of her seat. She took a post-it note out of her wallet and read it:

-post application
-kidney project
-buy tickets online
-Eat ambrosia and invent perpetual motion app.

A mother tried to pull in her buggy to allow Kim off at her stop.
“Sorry...sorry...thanks...sorry...see you tomorrow!” The driver looked at her but only blankly as he pushed the argument home that all mother-in-laws were the same into his Nokia.

Kim sighed as she saw the queue at the Post Office. A security guard stood beside it and checked out Kim before she ever saw him. Won’t steal. Nice ass. It was a busy shop and the newly adjoined PO was just a further annoyance to the guard. All these people standing around with packages bound for internet-less relatives and money bound for Holy Communion accounts. Meanwhile 38 Cadburys eggs were on his head, stolen from the counter last week. Between a rock and a hard place.

Kim was cradling her A4 envelope in her hands. She was not a nervous person per se, usually priding herself on her cynical and brash outlook on life which added to her black humour. This application was a bit different than usual. She was nervous. Registered post. She normally didn’t register her emails to her lecturer asking him is she what geneticists call ‘the One’, or her letters to Kevin Myers telling him to write for warm-blooded species? Real hope for her future was in her hands, working in the field as an undergraduate in Kashmir. A field doctor to prod her forward into new experiences. Finally! The woman in the queue in front of her takes her money from the counter.
“Hi, can you ....”
“Aaaaaaaahhh” She looked around. A chill ran down her spine. Something inhuman was shattering the humdrum din of the shop. The security guard was frozen in a javelin throwers stance, his eyes and jaws locked. He empties his lungs in this eerie wail and dropped to the floor. Going purple and clamping every muscle in his body, he remained alone on the shop floor, creating a stage for which the consumers now circled around. Kim watched the epileptic fit take over the young man. She noticed the shop staff step back, pity in their eyes for the rigid mass of muscle now beginning to quiver and go pale.

Kim dug her hand inside her jacket pocket and thumbed over numbers on her phone, hovering over ‘9’.
“What am I doing”, she involuntarily said aloud to herself. She came forward, through a fog of responsibility that was being spewed forward by the other shoppers. For some, it was wise to do so. Causing harm before had sharpened their goodwill impulses. Others froze, totally unaware of their potency, waiting and watching. Other people will do something was the common mantra. A smartly dressed man in a purple shirt and tie was standing near ‘front row’ when Kim ordered him to order an ambulance and,
“If you aren’t the first aider in the shop, get one now”. Kim rolled the victim on his side and waited. There was little else to do at this stage, letting the fit ride itself out and keep him from harming himself. She put her jumper under his head. He was relaxing; danger was passing, effects still in the future.
“Aren’t you a great bit of a girl?” the clerk said to Kim as she searched the guards wrists and wallet for any medical badges.
“Are you for furkin real?” Kim muttered under her breadth ...

pickarooney

Version 17

Kimothy James O’Brien has always struggled with his effeminate first name. What didn’t help was it constantly being snickeringly shortened to “Kim” by almost everyone who knew him and once himself when he applied for promotional work in a bar, safe in the knowledge that the prospective employer would be more interested in a potential woman named “Kim” than a fat, male med student named “Kimothy.”

Well, former med-student. For all intents and purposes. Kim was about to drop out of the prestigious GTI medical school after failing four of his end-of-calendar-year one-question exams. He was always more of a head man and the four questions (“Which is the left leg?”, “Which is the right leg?”, “Which is the left arm?” and “”Which is the right arm?”) really threw him for six on that cold December morning. That, coupled with the fact that the Professors all read out his incorrect answers to much contemporarial mocking and pointing, helped him make his mind up.

He was not looking forward to breaking the news to his parents. Both of them had worked in medicine as hospital janitors before their forced early retirement after being caught stealing mopheads and he was long considered the shining light in his family prior to this mishap. Finding little solace in the fact that they couldn’t punish him too severely from their cells in Castlerea, he still decided to do a runner to sunny Jyväskylä to avoid their wrath.

But firsy he needed a Passport. It was in the Post Office queue for the application form that he first noticed the man in the waxed green jacket standing in front of him. Kim was trying to make his mind up about also buying more stamps for his growing stamp collection (“Why bother your hole looking for rare and valuable stamps when you can just buy more down the Post Office?” he always bullishly reasoned) when the over-powering mixed aroma of Brut and jacket-wax wafted into Kim’s nostrils. “Jesus, he stinks worse than the Ryan Report” he thought to himself accompanied by an indulgent chuckle at his clever little topical reference, little realising the severity of the Ryan Report and the inappropriateness of deriving humour from it.

Mid-Kim’s chuckle, the man in the waxed green jacket suddenly clutched his chest and fell dramatically to the floor, groaning in pain. “Whoops, hope I didn’t cause that.” thought Kim as the other queuers started to scream hysterically, run around in a panic, try to call ambulances and while one lazy man used this handy distraction to throw his chewing gum in the nearest postbox instead of a bin.

Kim was glad that somebody had literally dropped out of the queue because he was in a major hurry to get home before Eastenders ended as he liked the end-credits music and was in the process of stepping over the man’s body when a strapping gentleman wearing a lovely pinstripe suit and carrying an understated leather briefcase yellingly asked “Is anyone here a doctor?” in an authoritative manner.

Kim knew he could’ve ignored this question considering that he wasn’t yet a qualified doctor and had figuratively torn his chances of ever becoming one apart limb-from-limb at Christmas. His conscience and pre-disposition towards meddling wouldn’t let him walk away, however, so it was with an unfamiliar feeling of pride surging throughout his body when he shrieked “I have some medical training!” as loudly as he could. So loud, in fact, that nobody heard the meek “I’m a doctor” muttered by the very shy and now ignored World Head of Medicine Dr. Sigourney Sailor only three feet away.

A loud cheer arose when Kim stepped forward for his moment of glory and knelt down beside the now-unconscious but still smelly man. He had a hard time collecting his thoughts as a shawl-wearing old woman was persistently squawking platitudes into his ear like “Thank goodness you’re here, young man!”

“Shush, woman. Did he say anything before he lost consciousness?” Kim asked angrily.

“Yes. He was complaining about a pain in his chest and a numbness in his arm.”

“His arm! If it was the left arm, he had a heart attack for sure.” Kim thought but he wasn’t so sure about his right arm. In fact he was pretty much clueless about it as he was hungover the morning they did the right side of the body in college and didn’t turn up.

“Which arm did he say he was numb? The left or the right?”

“That one!” The old woman croned, pointing to one of the waxed green jacketed man’s arms.

This was Kim’s worst nightmare. After his breathtaking humiliation during the exams, he never bothered to check the correct answers for the questions he got wrong and he was as clueless as ever as to which limb was which. Everyone in the Post Office were breathing down his neck in anticipation of witnessing some brilliant, life-saving heroics and some fevered individuals had even blocked the entrances for the emergency services to ensure that Kim’s heroic moment wouldn’t be impinged upon. The mood was percussive: Kim’s heart was beating, the audience were brutishly thumping their feet in anticipation of witnessing a great anecdote being made and the ambulance crew were pounding their fists against the window, screaming to be let in, as Kim took the plunge and guessed which arm the old woman had pointed at.

“Oh. The left, huh?” he drawled, smugly.

“Errrrr... no. The right.”

“****."

pickarooney

Version 17

Kim rolled her eyes. She was 30 minutes late for lunch, and the queue in the post office made her swear out loud. Cue dirty looks from the old ladies queuing for pensions, stamps, gossip, whatever they were there for. She looked at her watch. “Hurry up, damn it!” More dirty looks reprimanded her for saying it out loud.

She was going to tell the girls about her plans over lunch. Medical school just wasn’t working out. She was tired of the 18 hour days. No time for a boyfriend. No time for fun. Too much to study, too much homework, and that asshole professor had it in for her. Telling her friends would be the easy part. She was dreading dinner with Mum on Sunday. After Dad died in January, she didn’t know how her mother would take it. Tears? An argument? She sighed.

“One step at a time.” More looks. Kim looked at her watch again, and shook her head.

The queue wasn’t moving. She thought about leaving. Up to midnight last night studying the heart, but her heart wasn’t in it. She yawned and rubbed her face with both hands. A commotion ahead snapped her out of her reverie. Someone screamed. The queue ahead of her jostled backwards, and Kim grabbed at the wall to steady herself.

Something plastic fell on the ground.

What the hell is going on? She craned her neck, and saw that the crowd had formed a circle. She glimpsed a green jacket – someone lying on the ground. Suddenly she knew what had happened, and she tensed up. A single bead of cold sweat rolled down to the small of her back, and she wanted to be anywhere but here. Crap.

“Is there a doctor in the house?”

Kim held her breath. Please God let there be a doctor. Time slowed down, Kim’s heart beat a little bit faster.

“IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?”

Everyone looked around. People shuffled uneasily. The man in front of Kim looked around, and spotted something on the floor. He squinted his eyes. Kim followed his line of sight, and for a fraction of a second saw a miniature reflection of herself staring back. The next 10 seconds were a blur.

1....

She bent to pick up her fallen student ID card, but was too slow.

2.... 3....

The man studied the card.

4.... 5....

He read it aloud. “Kim Ryan, 2nd Year Medical Student”.

6.... 7.... 8....

Everyone’s eyes were upon her. An unseen pair of hands pressed against her back and she found herself being propelled forward. The inner circle parted.

9.... 10.

That’s all it took. 10 seconds from the shadow of anonymity to the glare of the spotlight. The circle closed up again. She couldn’t leave now if she tried.

“She’s a medical student.” Outside the circle, a male voice. The man who picked up her card. Bastard.

Kim closed her eyes. A long blink. A deep breath. She composed herself, and knelt down. She looked at the man lying flat on the ground and gasped.

“D...Dad?”

The inner circle turned to fog, and suddenly Kim was alone, staring down at her father’s coffin. Her mother’s voice:

“He was working too hard, Kim. All the signs were there, but we just didn’t see them. What am I going to do without him? I miss him so much.”

Kim heard her mother cry.

She looked around, and she was still alone.

Her mother’s voice continued: “You know what, Kimmy? He was so very proud of you. You’re going to be a doctor... A doctor! You’re going help people and save lives. All that hard work is going to pay off, honey. Just remember that he is watching over you now and will always be with you, no matter how hard things get.”

The voice trailed off, only to be replaced by another:

“Be strong, Kimmy. I love you.”

Dad.

Kim closed her eyes and a tear rolled down her cheek. She wiped it away with the palm of her hand and opened her eyes. Several anxious, expectant faces looked back at her.

“Can you help him?”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Is it a heart attack?”

She shook the fog off and looked down again. It was a middle aged man in a green jacket. The fog cleared completely and Kim knew what she had to do.

“Some....” – she cleared a quiver from her throat – “Someone call an ambulance!”

She loosened the man’s neck tie and checked for a pulse. No pulse. She watched his chest and held a finger over his airways. He wasn’t breathing.

She took off her jacket, rolled it up, and put it under his legs to raise them up. Several bystanders followed her lead and did the same.

She checked his airway for a blockage, and started CPR and Artificial Respiration.

“1, 2, 3, 4....” – the crowd held its breath, as if willing more air to be available to the man.
“5, 6, 7, 8....” – a young child joined in with the count.
“9, 10, 11, 12” – Kim held his nose and gave mouth to mouth.

A siren sounded in the distance.

Kim repeated the procedure. The young girl took the lead on the second count. She was hugging a teddy bear tightly to her chest, and her eyes were red from crying.

The siren grew louder.

Kim checked for a pulse. It was there! She did mouth to mouth again. And again. And again.

“Come ON!”

The man suddenly lurched and coughed, and the crowd gasped.

Kim yelped. “YES!”

She rolled the guy into the recovery position. The little girl who had been counting along started crying again, and wrapped her arms tightly around Kim’s neck. Kim held the girl and felt a euphoria wash over her. The little girl let go and went to the man.

“Daddy!”

Kim was still in a daze when the inner circle parted once more.

“We’ll take it from here, miss.”

Random strangers patted Kim on the back. Hugged her. Kissed her on the cheek. A piece of plastic was pressed into the palm of her hand. Her student ID. The man winked at her, smiled, and handed Kim her jacket. Kind of cute. Still a bastard though. She took out a pen and wrote her number on the back of his hand.

Kim walked out into the bright spring sunshine.

She felt the warmth of the sun wash over her.

Dad.

Kim smiled.

pickarooney

Version 17

There's a medical student, Kim, queueing at the post office when a middle-aged man with a green jacket collapses in a heap in front of one of the counters. Kim has failed four second year exams and is just about ready to drop out completely. Somebody asks if there's a doctor in the house. Kim hesitates about going to help or waiting for an ambulance.

Kim knows that she should try to help the man but fear, as well as a lack of knowledge, has her feet stuck to the floor; it's as if her feet are actually part of the floor; fused to it. All her instincts tell her that the man in the green jacket has simply fainted from the heat. It is the hottest day of the year after all, he shouldn't be wearing a jacket at all. Suddenly, she realises that this incident could give her the inspiration that she has needed for years. Kim asks the lady behind the counter to get some water for the man, props him up against the wall, and waits for the ambulance to arrive.


You see, Kim was never really interested in becoming a doctor in the first place. It was her parents that strong-armed her into it. Kim had always wanted to be a hairdresser. She knew it wasn't the most glamorous job in the world, but it was her calling, her destiny, her passion. Ever since she had been a little girl, she loved styling the hair on her dolls. She was truly gifted, and she knew it.

However, her parents had other plans. Both her mother and her father were doctors, and had aspirations for their daughter to become as successful and wealthy as them. When Kim told them what she wanted to be when she grew up, she saw a little spark in her parents' eyes fade, as if a part of theor souls had died. She could tell that they were disappointed, although they would never admit to it. Seeing that look in her parents' eyes, she decided that she couldn't let them down, even if it meant abandoning her own dreams.

In school, she did her very best to get the necessary qualifications, but only scraped through. Even though she worked hard, she never excelled. Always reading from her green medical journal, but never succeeding...


All of a sudden, the sound of approaching sirens snaps her out of her daydream. The paramedics enter the post office and come over to Kim and the man. She explains her diagnosis to them, and backs away to let them treat the man. After spending only thirty seconds examining the man, the paramedics make an announcement that chills Kim to the bone: the man is dead. They tell her that the man hadn't fainted, but had suffered a heart attack. Kim is stunned. One mistake, one misdiagnosis, had just cost this man his life. But it wasn't just a mistake. It was her mistake.

Kim walks out of the post office, through the green door, and into the noisy world of traffic and chaos. The world keeps turning for everyone, except for the man in the green jacket. And Kim. Her world has come to a stop. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing is important enough to care about. The only thing in the world that mattered right now was the fact that a man had just lost his life because of her.

Kim wanders down the street aimlessly. Just walking, because she has nowhere else to go. She walks through the street like a ghost; interacting with no-one, looking at nothing. Kim wonders whether this is what it feels like to be in a fugue state, where the mind simply runs away, because it's too traumatic to look back.

She looks up and in the distance she sees a church. Kim had always wanted to believe in God, but could never find a place for him in her heart. But she realises now that she needs him, now more than ever.

As she enters the church courtyard, she begins to walk towards the front doors of the church, but her eyes get drawn to something else on the courtyard. The bell tower. She moves towards it as if she is drawn to it by an invisible force, pulling her towards it like gravity. She reaches it, and slowly pushes open the door. She begins to move up the stairs, unaware of what she is doing, and of what she is about to do...

Kim isn't even sure what's going through her mind. It's just black, as though her soul, her being, died along with the man in the green jacket. As she reaches the top of the bell tower, she moves forward, her feet teetering on the edge. As she stares down, all that she can see is the green grass below her. She looks up, sees the world around her, and takes one step forward.

All her life, it seemed that the colour green had been with her during her major turning points in life. Now, as she falls closer to the ground, she sees that same colour envelop her, as it becomes the last thing she will ever see...

pickarooney

Version 17

Kim tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Counter five,’ the electronic voice said while the LED screen flashed the number and arrows pointing in the counters general direction. The man in front of her shuffled forwards excruciatingly slowly before stopping and looking around haltingly, searching for the counter numbered five. For the love of God, hurry up. I haven’t got all day. Kim sighed with relief when the man spotted the counter and resumed his sluggish shuffling. He seemed he was going even slower than before. She cursed him silently. He might have all the time in the world but she did not and she didn’t enjoy spending the little time she did have standing in a crowded room which stank of sweat and must because he couldn‘t walk just that little bit faster.
He was almost there. Three steps to go, two steps, one step. Suddenly the man was on the floor. The room came alive with shouts and mutterings. Someone pushed Kim aside hurriedly to check on the man. The only sign of movement was his gently flickering eyelids.
‘Is anyone here a doctor?’ The stranger’s voice sounded faraway. Kim stayed pushed against the edge of another counter while everyone else around her bustled and shoved and strained to see over others. The call for a doctor came again. Her finger twitched, her mouth opened. Nothing else happened. The call was repeated, louder, more frantically. She began to silently pray although she wasn’t sure for what. Suddenly a man pushed past her and elbowed his way through the crowd repeating something over and over again. He must be a doctor. She didn’t know where he had appeared from. She didn’t care. As the mass of people continued to watch in awe she turned away and slipped out the door.


She stirred the black coffee and watched her blurry reflection ripple and spin. She added six sachets of sugar and then pushed it to the side, resting her head in her hands. Most people thought that sweet milky tea was good for shock; her mother had always said that sweet black coffee was better. Warm milk made you drowsy whereas caffeine woke you up which was important in her mothers books. ‘Well if you’re in a situation that causes shock then you probably won’t be able to afford to sleep.’ As a second year medical student Kim knew that neither was right. You weren’t meant to give liquids to anyone in shock in case they choked. Then again the medical definition of shock and her mothers weren’t he same either.
She let her elbows slide until her head rested on the table and closed her eyes. She wondered what her mother would say to her if she could see her now. Wondered if she would be approving or disappointed. Of course if her mother was there she wouldn’t have decided to go into medicine because she wouldn’t have been inspired to save lives. Wouldn’t have lost that inspiration after and year. Wouldn’t have an annoyed waitress standing over her, glaring.
She raised her head from the table and sipped the unbearably sweet coffee. The waitress stared a while longer, as if expecting Kim to lower her head again, then strode off, grumbling under her breath. Kim realised she should have felt something. Anger, regret, fury, embarrassment. Nothing happened. She pulled on her coat and left.
It was a crisp autumn day. Around midday perhaps? She stood across from Salthill Beach which was completely deserted. It was a Monday. That must be why. She crossed the road and hurried along the sand. The sky overhead was a grey and there was a frosty wind blowing. That could be why as well.
She kicked off her pumps, threw down her bag and stepped forward, the icy water seeming to chill her whole body. She waded in further; soaking her jeans and causing her to shiver. The gentle roll of each wave stung her legs increasingly. She smiled


‘Kim? Is that you?’ called the voice of her housemate Cerry. ‘Where were you today? I thought you said you were actually going to go to your evening lec-’ Her sentence was cut short when she noticed Kim’s sopping jeans and sand encrusted pumps. ‘What the hell happened to you?’
‘Beach.’ She pushed past Cerry, heading in the direction of the bathroom.
‘The beach?! But it’s freezing outside. Are you trying to catch pneumonia?’
‘Yes’ Kim said as sweetly as she could muster before locking the door behind her. Sliding to the floor she hid face in her hands as she felt tears beginning to flow. It was all such a mess. Such a complete and utter mess. She had promised herself she would try, really try this semester yet she was doing just as bad as ever. She just didn’t have the same interest as before. She had gotten into medicine to save people but she couldn’t even save that man in post office, could even bring herself to try. If something were to go wrong…if she were to cause something. A wave of nausea overcame her. She just reached the toilet in time.


She found herself sitting in the same café the next morning. She was meant to be in a lecture. Then again when wasn’t she always? She had almost gone this time. She had just stopped off in Spar to grab something quick for breakfast when she had seen it. The story about what had happened in the post office. It was front page of The Galway Advertiser. He had died.
She sipped her coffee to satisfy the waitress who clearly wasn’t happy to see her back and watched the waves. The tide was further in today. Kim wasn’t surprised when she found her feet bringing her towards the ocean once more. She didn’t bother taking off her shoes. Just walked straight in until she was waste deep. She shook from head to toe. Her teeth began to chatter and she took a few more hesitant steps, hr feet beginning to lose contact with the sand as the water started to support her body. Her bag slipped from her shoulders and she watched it float away passively. All she could feel was the piercing cold and the gnawing guilt. Her golden hair fanned around her. She took a breath and ducked under the waves.

pickarooney

Version 17

Kim gnawed the already bitten nail on her index finger in frustration, screaming as loud as she could in her mind. Could that old man count out his money any slower? He dropped a small coin and leaned over slowly to retrieve it; she could almost hear his bones creaking. It wasn’t just the delayed queues in the post office that were bothering her. The thoughts of letting her parents know she had managed to fail four of her second year medical school exams made her stomach churn with anxiety. They would be beyond disappointed, they were paying the fees after all. She had never even wanted to be a doctor, that was their dream not hers. She was doing the best she could. Even that wasn’t enough.

A collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the queue as the old man finally finished his business at the counter and made his way outside. They all shuffled forwards slowly, a chain gang of free people, tied together by bills and savings and the need to queue for an hour to deal with either. A middle aged man waddled towards the counter. His excess fat and receding hair line repulsed Kim. He seemed overly sweaty and agitated, she was almost glad she wasn’t next in the queue or she would have had to stand uncomfortably close to him. He reached into the inner pocket of his frayed green jacket. At least he was faster than the senior citizen, thought Kim glumly.

There were no windows in the post office but every time the door opened she could smell the freshness of the warm Spring day outside. She turned longingly towards the tiny puffs of fresh air that passed through the open door in the seconds it took to enter the building. There was no air conditioning, the post office was stifling. It smelled of stale body odour and worse things. The only sound was an increasingly audible ticking clock. Each tick seemed to bring Kim closer to her future. Each tock a warning that she was in a lot of trouble. Her insides clenched tightly. It was almost a relief when the fat man at the counter started shouting. At least it drowned out the incessant ticking.

The people in the queue all glanced at each other with similarly bemused expressions. It simply wasn’t good manners to shout in the post office. But it made for an interesting interlude. Kim almost smiled until she saw how pasty and pale the man’s face had become. And how suddenly it became bright red. His breathing was laboured; too loud as he struggled to take a breath. Suddenly silent, he glanced around, an almost fearful look fleeting across his face right before he collapsed to the ground. The post mistress leapt to her feet, concern evident on her face.

“Is there a doctor here? A nurse? Anyone with first aid training?” she demanded urgently as she picked up her phone to ring an ambulance.

Kim recoiled. The man’s skin was covered in a film of sweat. He disgusted her. She didn’t want to touch him. He lay there, immobile. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. But she could not bring herself to move towards him. She inched backwards, pressing herself against the wall, somehow hoping it would hide her from him. Her eyes darted around the room, terrified that someone would recognise her as a medical student and demand she acted. She could help the man, she just didn’t want to.
Within seconds, half of the queue had passed her by to group around the man. All eager to help in an emergency. All eager in the face of a good story to relate to their loved ones later. All ignoring Kim’s presence completely. She made her decision. It was easy. Run away. One by one, the knots in her stomach released as she quietly made her way to the door, unseen. She slipped out and was halfway down the road and feeling as free as a bird by the time the ambulance arrived. She didn’t care what happened to the man. But he had helped her make the choice to drop out. She felt like she had shed a load from her shoulders. And for the first time in two years, she was free.

pickarooney

Version 17

The pungent smell tingled the inside of Kims nose, she could see the end of the line but all that mattered now was attempting to distance herself from the guy in front. As the line moved slowly forward Kim stepped that little bit slower. Kim looked along the line and mentally counted them in front. “Trust me to come here on a Wednesday” she thought. The guy in front of Kim was dressed very scruffily, his old and tattered green jacket had many holes in it and numerous stains. His beard was long and ragged and his hair was long and grey and obviously not washed in a while. The longer Kim kept looking at the back of this guy the more repulsed she became of him.


As the line again shuffled forwards Kims thoughts moved towards her college course. She was nearing the end of her second year in medicine and had already failed a few exams. Kim hadn't been in college for a few weeks and had already decided enough was enough. Posting this letter to the college would finally free her from the hell that's been the last few years. Her mother who was a GP pushed her into the course. You see medicine was in the family, Grandparents, Uncles, Aunts and even Kims sister where practising but Kim felt like she was forced into it. She felt her life was being controlled by her mother yet again and Kim felt at 23 years of age it was time she had a say in her life.


Her mother was very strict on Kim growing up, she controlled everything about her life from who her friends where to even how she dressed. Kims father left when she was 13, apparently he had a nervous breakdown and disappeared one evening from home and never returned. Kim loved her father and still carried a picture of him around in her purse. One day she thought they would be re united and one day she thought she could get the answers to the many questions Kim had.

Finally the line was moving somewhere, Kim was around ten people from the counter and finally she could get away from this smelly old man that was making her day that bit more unbearable. As Kim stood there her mind slowly drifted away to thoughts of getting on a plane and heading somewhere hot. “I don't care where i go” thought Kim just as long as i don't see a stethoscope or my mother. The gap in front of Kim and the old man could have fitted two or three people in it but Kim couldn't care, if they could smell him they would understand.


"Next please" the assistant shouted, Kim stood there and watched as the old man swayed slightly but just stood there. "Next please" the woman bellowed but this time with a bit more purpose. Again the man stood there but made no effort to move. Get a move on Kim thought, she felt like giving him a kick to see if that would get him going but there he is still standing. "Excuse me sir, next please" the woman shouted but this time she would have been heard from the front door of the building. The old man stepped forward but just as his right leg lifted in the air to move forward his left leg gave way and he was on his back.


Kim stared in disbelief, audible gasps where heard all along the queue and the woman behind the counter sprung from her chair like a jack in the box. Kim edged forward, she knew that she could help this man but she also knew how bad he smelt. No one budged and everyone just looked at each other. Maybe they all smelt him Kim thought. Another few seconds went by and people just stood there whispering to each other. A wave of guilt washed over Kim and before she knew it she was on the floor beside the man. OK think she thought, ABCs. He's not breathing, no pulse, this old scruffy smelly man is dead.


Kim barked at the woman behind the counter "call an ambulance, tell them we have a man who is unresponsive and not breathing" Kim clenched her hands together and placed them on his chest, "one and two and three and four" she said out loud. As Kim was pressing on his chest her mind wandered to the fact that she is going to have to give this man mouth to mouth. She was disgusted for a second but then realised the only hope this guy has is me! As Kim finished the last compression she tilted his head and blew into his mouth, she saw his chest rise. Again she started the compressions, one and two and three....Kim could feel her face going red and could feel herself starting to sweat. She knew that from college that the chances of this working where pretty slim, but i wont give in she thought.


The wail of the ambulance could be heard from the door as Kim continued to work on him. Just as Kim leaned forward to give the kiss of life again the old man took a gasp of breath, for a second Kim froze as the man started to move. "Is he breathing?", "Does he have a pulse?" Kim could hear, but for now she was transfixed on that smelly old man that repulsed her. As the old man stared at her Kim stared more intently back, "Dad" she exclaimed. The ambulance men gently pushed Kim aside and checked over the old man. Kim just stood there in disbelief, in shock, all them memories flooding back. A tear trickled down her face as she saw her dad been put on the stretcher. With one hand she grabbed his hand and with the other she slipped the letter back into her pocket.

pickarooney

Version 17

A high pitched scream and a shouted request for an ambulance were what first shook her from her reverie. Even though she stood directly behind the man in the queue, his sudden drop out of her line of vision didn’t register. Even now she stood motionless as others brushed past to help, jostling for space in the tight lane between her and the tension queuing barriers.

Four pairs of eyes were focused on helping the man on the floor but most of the other eyes in the room stared firmly in her direction, as she unsuccessfully tried not to catch anyone’s gaze. It was probably the long white coat partially hidden under her not quiet long enough trench coat that gave them the first clue to her profession. Or it could have been the numerous pens in the breast pocket from which also hung her St. Vincent’s hospital staff badge. These were all good indicators but she reckoned that the stethoscope guiltily hanging around her neck would have been the clincher.

All she wanted to do was post the bloody letter, something I could have done at anytime over the past ****ing week, she thought. After all it had been in her pocket since last Saturday, why had she waited until this afternoon to come here? Why did she wait until the exact time that this piss stained old man decided would be a good time for a nosedive? she chided herself silently.

Her fully caffeinated bloodstream was fighting a losing battle against the overwhelming fatigue from the thirty six hours on call that she was now just a mere eight hours from the end of. That was another thing, she was on a break. That means off duty. Yet one more good reason to ignore the crumpled human heap on the floor. Let someone who was still being paid deal with him.

She could see the good Samaritans waving to her from their crouched position. She presumed from their beckoning that they were asking for her professional assistance, but her ears were ringing from the exhaustion overdose which drowned out all sound and all she could think of was the merits of skipping the queue to get the stamps she came in for and getting the hell out of here.

Skipping ahead in the queue would mean stepping over the man on the ground and was likely to get her lynched so that wasn’t a viable option. Neither was just leaving, from the badge they knew where she worked and someone would surely make a damning call to the job before she was even out the door. She’d need the funds from this last pay cheque at least for her new future.

The letter was to her parents but in particular her father. When you have a father who is already a respected doctor and you get a 600 point leaving cert, following in his footsteps is what’s expected of you. Add in the offer of a full scholarship to a top medical school and your future life direction changes from expectation to presumption.

Making such a decision at nineteen years of age that would affect the course of the rest of her life was complete madness of course but back then no thought was given to delaying the future. When you have almost a decade of study laid out ahead of you surely one should just get on with it as soon as possible. That’s what the senior Doctor in the family thought anyway.

But now things were going to be different. Now she was making a change whether the good doctor liked it or not. The letter set out why she had quit, even though she hadn’t actually handed in her resignation just yet. Once this letter was posted she had two days to complete the process and she could even have four now if she delayed it to over the weekend. The posting of the letter would set the future in motion, the unwritten future.

There were many problems with practicing medicine. First there were then endless shifts, eighteen hours, thirty six hours, even fifty eight hours straight weren’t unheard of and the pay stayed at the same low level. Not that she had time to spend the meagre income anyway. Downtime was used for sleeping eating, washing the hospital stink off her body and/or clothes and travelling back to work with any remaining time used for the endless studying. God forbid she might have a social life. Between the frantic studying for the leaving cert and now she never had time to meet any guys and had resigned herself to dying a virgin.

The second problem was the people she worked with. All the senior consultants, even the female ones looked down on junior doctors like her. Like she was a pus filled boil that refused to be lanced… or a nurse, which was the same thing in their eyes. Even the nurses managed to condescend to her too like she had ideas above her station. And those that were her equals as junior doctors were either competitive to the point of open hostility or walked around like zombies from exhaustion.

The final and deciding problem, she’d discovered, was she was surrounded by old or sick or needy people, all the ****ing time and God, how she despised them.

Listening to their sob stories and problems and assessing their symptoms and rashes. Putting up with their half formed self diagnoses from the internet and their opinions on what tests should be ordered. And now with alarming regularity how they’d like a second opinion, please. She’d been tempted to say on more than one occasion over the last year’s internship that hers was the second opinion, Google gave them the first.

But no more, once this shift was done she was off for two whole days in a row and was never coming back. She planned to arrive home shortly after the post was delivered and face the music. Anyway regardless of her fathers objections she was pretty sure couldn’t come back. The fourth year final results were out next month and there was little doubt she’d be forced to repeat the year. Adding yet another year to a decade of study wasn’t a course she’d even consider.

But what to do with this man though? She looked down at the patient as he continued to turn a greyish blue colour. **** it Kim thought she’d just have to suck it up one more time. She shrugged off her top coat and pushed past the helpers and reluctantly said “Let me though I’m a Doctor.”

pickarooney

Version 17

Wolf Tide

A man with an eye patch stood blocking the tavern entrance the night Jim Kim arrived. He stopped and raised a sleeve to display his forearm. The guard nodded and let him pass. Jim smiled. If he had refused the tattoo, the double-barrell flintlock on Jim's hip would also have guaranteed entry.

Inside, the air was warmer, though it stank of stale booze. Four men in long green coats were gathered at the bar, obstructing his path.

"Jimmy! Jim, over here!"

He looked around, but saw nobody. Eventually, he gave up and pushed through the sailors. He waved to the barmaid.

"Suzie!" he called. He leaned against the wooden counter, reached into his satchel and removed the envelope.

"Hello, darling. What can I do for you?"

He looked up and winked. "Quite a bit, I fancy. But tonight..." He dropped three ducats on the envelope and Suzie tilted her head to read its address.

"Medical School? Oh, I'd forgot you's a student! Nice a' Captain Tyrell to pay for that."

Jim grimaced. He was sick of Tyrell's deranged quest, and the training it demanded.

"That's a 'maybe', then?"

Suzie giggled and took the envelope. It contained his resignation from the school, and as she put it away, the coins also disappeared. "That's sent out Tuesday, love."

When she left, a meaty hand grabbed him by the shoulder. "Jimmy, are you deaf?"

Jim turned, and saw the ruddy smiling face of the ship's cook. "Hello Rourkey," he said as his friend handed him a goblet.

"Drink with me, Jimmy! To the Saber!"

"I'd rather not," he replied. "I've quit the school."

Rourkey blanched, immediately sober. He pulled Jim from the bar and lowered his voice. "He'll keelhaul you, Jimmy."

"Or kill me," he sighed. "You have to get tired tracking this monster too. Tyrell's obsessed with hunting John Able, Rourkey, but its his quest, not ours."

As they spoke, an old sailor stumbled past, clutching the clasps of his green coat.

"No more rum for him," Rourkey muttered, and Jim followed the man with his eyes. He pursed his lips. "Two nights a month ain't bad, though," his friend continued, "And he's paid for all your training."

"Exactly. He pays. He decides what we do and when." He paused, "And I don't think that man is drunk."

At once, the sailor fell to his knees and roared in pain. He collapsed onto his side, writhing on the floor. "Doctor!" Suzie screamed from behind the counter. "Where's that doctor?"

Jim hesitated.

"Well?" Rourkey demanded, as the man writhed across the dust-covered floor. "Help him, Jimmy!"

He nodded, and stepped forward. It would have to be quick. Another copy of the letter sat in Tyrell's cabin, and once he found it, he would send half the crew to hunt Jim down.

"This man's a doctor. Clear some room and see him work magic!"

Rourkey walked a circle around the pair, and the crowd, eyes still fixed on the man, backed away. Jim frowned. Something wasn't right.

The man was writhing, almost pulling away from his own body, and his skin was growing darker. Suddenly, Jim saw his yellow eyes.

He tried to throw himself backwards, but it was already too late. The sailor's long, muscular fingers held him in place. White foam began leaking from his mouth and dripping down his chin, where thick black hairs had sprouted.

Jim roared as he struggled, but the sailor was too strong. Suzie screamed, ducking behind the bar as Rourkey stepped forward. The sailor's frame had almost doubled in size, and his face grew longer and hairier with each second. He opened his mouth, and displayed sharp, teeth glistening with saliva.

"Rourkey, its him! Able!"

"Everybody out!" Rourkey bellowed, reaching inside his longcoat. His eyes were clear, focused.

The crowd had already fled as Rourkey drew his flintlock. Twisting, the wolf rolled away, pulling Jim with him. He raised one leg and kicked hard. Jim landed on top of Rourkey, sending the pistol spinning through the dirt.

Suddenly, the wolf was upon them. His teeth exposed, he leapt forward with a growl and sunk his fangs into Rourkey's neck. Blood splattered across his face and chest as he gorged. With the wolf distracted, Jim broke free.

He turned, unholstered his own flintlock, and fired.

The shot missed its intended target, instead smashing through the window of the tavern. Shards of glass sprinkled onto the wolf. He snarled, and dropping Rourkey's body, leapt at Jim again. Jim however, kept hold of his pistol. The wolf slammed into him, knocking him back to the floor and pinning him down.

Jim maneuvered the muzzle towards the wolf's chest, and once more, pulled the trigger.

The wolf roared, but instead of falling away, he reached down and bit deep into Jim's right arm. Jim felt instantly nauseous. His muscles weakened, and he flopped back onto the ground.

Everything went dark.

The wolf stood, and Jim heard it stumbling through the door. A woman screamed on the street outside. Eventually, he felt a soft hand caress his cheek. He opened his eyes.

Suzie.

"You need the ambulance cart?"

He coughed, "No thanks."

His arm pulsed in pain, and the wound had already begun to yellow. Rolling onto his side and saw Rourkey's mangled remains near the opposite wall, and a mouthful of bile forced into his mouth.

Jim spat, and pushed himself to his feet. Flintlock still in one hand, he scanned the floor.

"A were-wolf," Suzie said, shaking her head. "I never thought..."

But Jim wasn't listening. He walked to Rourkey's body, reached down and picked up his friend's pistol. The barrel still had two loaded shots - silver, as were his own.

Though the guns belonged to Tyrell, he would never see them again. Jim holstered both and looked down at his arm. The venom was already coursing through his veins. On the next full moon, he too would turn into a monster.

Unless he could kill John Able first.

The captain would be so proud!

pickarooney

Version 17

"Who even sends postal orders these days?" thought Kim as she stood, queueing in the post office. She hadn't set foot in one for years but then Nan sent a birthday card with a €20 postal order in it. It was two months early. Nan must have got her confused with a different cousin. So what? Another few vodka/Red Bulls on a student night.

She skipped class just to get here before the place closed and now the line was ten people long. A quick glance at the bland clock on the wall said it'd been ten minutes, ten minutes too long. Last night had been another over-indulgence. Was it four or five when she got home?

Now, she wasn't fit to stand in line. Sleep is needed. Let's be honest, she wouldn't have gone to that afternoon class, whether she had to go to the post office or not. The Christmas exams were a disaster and she hadn't changed anything this semester.

First year went well. Everyone said medicine would be tough so she buckled down and hit the books hard and got through first year easily but this year she was falling behind. She thought she'd done enough last year to be able to keep up. Obviously not but in the weeks since the exams and the start of the new semester, she’d been wondering why bother with it? “There's plenty of doctors out there to go around and I’m clearly not even that excited about it. Better them than me”, she thinks.

Still in line now but she’s been snapped from her day-dreaming. A lady screamed and everyone is pushing each other to peer over shoulders at something at the front. Kim overhears someone mutter "the guy just toppled over" and someone else states matter-of-factly "has to be a heart attack, he kinda leaned forward, his face went red then he fell on his side, dead to the world".

Kim tries to squeeze past those in front and gaze at the counter. There's a man lying there, eyes closed, beer belly pointing to the sky. There's a few post office workers standing over him, one on the phone, the others trying to calm the crowd.

"Calm, please. We're calling the ambulance now but if there's a doctor or a nurse or someone who knows first aid here, could you come up and take a look at him?" one woman calls out. Kim freezes. There's no chance she's ready.

"Kim! Go help him!" Anna yells, pushing Kim forward. Why did she have to come along?

“What are you waiting for, Kim? Anything you know will help him. Go on!” Anna shouts, grabbing her by the arm and leading her to the front of the queue where the man lies.

Bashfully, almost shamefully, Kim presents herself to the post office workers as a medicine student. “Brilliant” and “Thank God!” can be heard. The workers try and make space around the man for her. She kneels down beside him. He’s a middle-aged man, probably no more than fifty. No surprise that he’s had a heart attack, she thinks. The size of his belly, his wrists, his neck. A pack of John Players can be seen in his coat pocket. God knows how clogged his arteries are.

Ok, Kim thinks. What now? Check his airways. She leans over his body. Nervous, she tries to ignore his stench. Trembling fingers touch the sallow, greasy skin of his chin and forehead. A quick look suggests his chest isn’t rising. Stopping, she goes to check his pulse but can’t find it in his neck. She grabs his wrist but her clammy hands don’t help and now she’s panicking.

She’s aware of the billion eyes locked on her. She can feel them burning into her head like flaming arrows. Still can’t find a pulse. She decides to go back and try mouth to mouth. Returning her hands to his chin and forehead, she opens his mouth and peers inside. Nothing can be seen. At all. It’s too dark to see inside.

Ok, here it goes. She leans in and puts her lips on his, making sure to cover his mouth completely. She tries to breath normally but her heart is racing. She gives up. This isn’t working. She opens his green coat and the chequered shirt beneath, exposing his bare chest. She traces the line with the tip of her index finger and finds the spot. Pressing both hands on his chest, she begins to press down on him. Up and down. She keeps doing it, trying it faster, then with more power. Still no response.

The arrows burning her scalp, she looks up. Too many eyes to count, all staring at her as if she were some nut trying to rip out this guy‘s heart. Their Medusa stare turns her to stone. She stops completely and then falls backwards in shock. She looks at the crowd with an apologetic look. They gawk at her. She’s certain she hears: “What have you done to him?”

She raises her arms in a defensive, apologetic motion but words won‘t accompany it. The ambulance has arrived and the paramedics swarm around the body. She is asked to move away. “I don’t know” she mutters.

“You don’t know what, Ms. Cullen?” a voice booms.

Confused, she looks for the face of the speaker in the crowd. It repeats the question. And again. Anna prods her and whispers “wake up” in her ear.

pickarooney

Version 17

Kim realised she hadn’t spoken for days, when she asked for her money. Her voice sounded strange to her, tremulous and unnaturally foreign – a betrayal, perhaps, of her reclusiveness.
“You need to fill one of these out. There’s a pen over there,” the lady behind the counter replied, perfunctorily. “Next!”
She hadn’t left her apartment since Monday – not since the exam results arrived – and she’d still not have but for the fact that vodka and fags had a way of running out, as did her money.
Kim signed her name at the bottom of the yellow Western Union form, and rejoined the queue. There were already three people in front of her, and although she’d nowhere to be, her impatience was driven by a very real desire not to be there. Out in the open, hung-over and surrounded, she felt vulnerable. She sighed silently, and checked her watch: 11.15.
“Next!”
A man in a green jacket stepped up to the counter. Kim was immediately struck by him. The lady behind the counter was clearly not in the mood for conversation, but the man chatted to her anyway. “Terrible weather, isn’t it?”
The lady muttered something Kim couldn’t hear, and began doling out twenties with monotonous efficiency. The man in the green jacket began to whistle. He reminded her of her father: grey-haired, proud and kind. She could feel the guilt slide into her stomach.
Bill, her father, had been so proud when she made it into medical school. His pride was so immense and vocal, it quickly became a source of great embarrassment to her. “Dad, stop telling people. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? My daughter is going to be a Doctor, and it’s no big deal? If that’s not a big deal, will you please tell me what is? I’m as proud as punch of you Kimmy, and I want the world to know it.”
“Ok,” she’d blushed. “But could you stop telling everyone you meet? This morning even the postman congratulated me.”
Initially, she’d blanched at his offer to send her money every Friday. Her father ran a hardware store, and they did ok, but since the recession, things had tightened up. Bill insisted. “You need to focus everything on your studies. It’s just your Mother and me; the mortgage is paid off; and besides, I see it as an investment for when I’m old, and can hardly get out of bed for want of a prescription.”
Eventually she relented, and was glad she had: her course was insanely difficult, and studying took up almost all of her time. First year had been ok, and she’d even managed to have some kind of a social life, but this semester her workload had gone orbital, and all of her time was taken up with her books. She hardly had time for a few Friday night drinks, never mind a part time job.
She gazed back at the money order, blurred by tears. Her mind was transfixed with the sad prospect of letting her father down so badly. She was walled in with her guilt, alone with it, and she wanted her Dad to take it away. But that was impossible.
Slowly, her thoughts became distracted by a commotion that seemed to be happening at the counter. The lady at the counter screamed, and a young man rushed over to help. It was the man in the green jacket. He’d fallen over. What was happening?
“Somebody call an ambulance!” the young man cried. “He needs a Doctor.”
Kim froze. She wasn’t yet a doctor, nor did it seem likely she’d ever be. But she knew she was far more qualified than anyone else here to help. His lips were turning blue, and she could tell he wouldn’t make it to a hospital.
She heard a voice call out, “I’m a doctor,” and realised it was her own. She stepped forward, Bambi-legged to where he lay.
“I’m a doctor; let me see him. Move back please.” She could see a glimmer of relief wash over the small crowd gathered.
“An ambulance is on its way.” The lady behind the counter rushed back from the office. “They said about fifteen or twenty minutes.”
Kim felt her hands tremble as she felt for a pulse. He hadn’t got one.
“Ok, I’m going to do CPR, try to get his lungs and heart going before the ambulance gets here.” She hesitated a moment. She’d failed anatomy only four days ago. “**** it,” she thought, placing her hands on him as she leaned forward. “I know where his lungs are.”
For fifteen minutes she continued the procedure: two breaths, thirty pumps, check pulse; but nothing. By the time the paramedics arrived, Kim knew he hadn’t made it.

***

It was so quiet in the corridor that Kim could hear her watch ticking. She slid her sleeve across it: 11:15. A door opened.
“Professor Barton will see you now.”
Kim cautiously opened the door, and entered the large office.
“Kim!” said Professor Barton, brightly. “Please, take a seat.
“I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you. I saw the incident report the paramedics submitted about your … about the incident at the Post office.”
Kim watched the floor.
“They were very complimentary. They said you did everything right, Kim. By all accounts, you showed excellent composure…”
“The man died, Professor. Mr. Johnson died. I did nothing.”
Professor Barton smiled tenderly. “I understand you want to leave us?”
“I failed four exams. I … I don’t really have much choice.”
“You can repeat.”
“That’s not it,” she said, sadly. “I can’t do this. I’m not able…”
“You were able last Friday, Kim.”
“Able? He died in my arms professor. How exactly is that able?”
“Kim, he was beyond help. He had a massive heart attack. Nobody could have saved him. But what you showed was confidence, competence, and a cool head. You are more than able.”
Kim rose from her chair.
“Thank you, Professor.”
“Thank you, Kim.”
Kim stepped slowly towards the door.
“Kim?”
She turned to look at the professor. “Yes?”
“Think about it, ok?”
“Ok,” she replied, as the door clicked shut behind her.

pickarooney

Version 17

Bad Day

Great. A huge f**king queue. Why the hell did everyone pick Monday afternoon to collect their dosh? It’s not like my day started out that well either. To say that my exam results were poor would be the understatement of the century. I failed four of them. Four! Dad is gonna freak when he finds out, but I’m gonna put off that little conversation for as long as I can get away with it. You see, my Dad’s a top doctor in Beijing. Thought it’d be just swell if his only son followed in his footsteps to become a doctor too. I don’t really give a damn, as long as my monthly allowance comes through.

Is the thermostat up to the max in here, or what? My arm is so f**king itchy today, I’ve been scratching it so much it’s practically raw. There’s some old lady in the queue behind me pursing her lips and looking down her crooked nose at me. Not sure if it’s because of my nervous tics, or because I’m Chinese. You wouldn’t believe how racist some of those old f**kers are. Looking at me like I’m some sort of f**king disease.
‘Want something?’ I asked her. She clutched her handbag closer to her chest, and lowered her eyes quickly. That’s right. Shut the f**k up and keep to yourself.

Did I mention how hot this place is? The queue isn’t even moving. No wonder that guy in the green jacket is wavering to and fro. He’s probably been queuing since yesterday! Great, I think I jinxed him or something, he’s just fallen over.

‘Somebody call an ambulance,’ said someone nearby. ‘This man has collapsed!’

No f**king kidding Sherlock. Oh no, I’m getting that insides-on-fire sweaty feeling again. My heart’s racing like crazy. That guy’s not looking too well either. He’s still breathing, just about. No-one’s even loosened his tie or anything.

‘Does anyone know first aid?’ asked a woman in front of me.

‘I do,’ I replied. F**k. Stupid knee-jerk reaction. I’m in no condition to help anybody.

I went over to the guy and got one of the men in the queue to help me take off his jacket. I loosened and removed his tie as well. He’s still breathing though. I’m feeling a little bit dizzy to be honest. My arm is aching with itchiness. Why the f**k did I pick today to come in here? I checked his pulse again, but it was hard to make out the strength of the heartbeat. My hands are shaking all over the place.

‘Anybody call an ambulance yet?’ I asked. Where the hell were the paramedics? The hospital was only 10 minutes away. The people in the queue stared blankly at me. I asked again, louder this time. ‘Did anybody call a f**king ambulance?’

A young woman came into the post office and, after seeing the man on the ground, raced over to my side.

‘Oh my God, Daddy!’ she cried. She searched through his jacket and pulled out a little silver case. ‘He’s a diabetic, he must’ve forgotten his injection this morning.’

F**king idiot. How do you forget something like that?

‘Gimme the needle,’ I said to the girl. She opened the case, pulled out an insulin injection and handed it to me. My hands are shaking like crazy. I rolled up his sleeve roughly and looked for somewhere to inject him. God knows I should have enough f**king experience using needles. I missed a couple of times, but eventually I found a good spot.

‘There,’ I said, ‘he should be okay until the ambulance gets here.’

I got up and left the post office. The place was suffocating. People thanked me on the way out, but I just passed them by without saying a word. F**k’s sake, I needed that money badly. I’ll have to come back tomorrow and queue again. Goddamnit.

pickarooney

Version 17

Post Office Account

Kim stands in the queue for the counter, patiently waiting at the back of the line. She still doesn’t feel quite with it. A bit dizzy, a little nauseous. In fact, she’s not quite sure why she bothered to come in here, now. Not to collect her savings, anyway. Fifty-something quid wouldn’t have even got her properly drunk. She watches the people in front of her. Woman with a screaming baby, stressed looking office guy with too much hair gel, grey haired building worker in muddy boots. A few girls with poker hair and heavy makeup giggle about the oversize card they’re carrying. One of them looks pregnant. Maybe she’s just chubby. Kim shoves her hands in her empty pockets and stares at the floor instead.

The door opens behind her, bringing a rush of cold air with it. Two middle-aged women enter, deep in shocked conversation. Their faces are pale and they gesture with their hands, but Kim doesn’t hear what they say. They brush past her, and join the queue, not even noticing that she’s there too. What’s the point in arguing with them anyway? Kim resumes her place behind them, and waits. At least her shoes aren’t pinching today. They’re her ‘best’ ones, the sexy mary janes with the stiletto heels. Bought them because Dave said he liked high heels. But he still dumped her, anyway.

She peruses the room. Scruffy counters, bulletproof glass with little slots to speak through. Worn carpet, old posters. The windows are high, and she can’t see out of them, but looking upwards at the stained ceiling tiles, she can make out the faint reflected flash of a blue strobe light outside.

The building worker in front of her catches her attention. He’s shuffling his feet, coughing a bit, fidgeting. He’s a big man, surely 6 foot tall, and broad too. Built like a brick outhouse, her gran would say. This guy is bringing attention to himself now; his behaviour at odds with the quiet patience of the queue. He begins to grunt and stumble, and he grabs the flimsy rope divider beside him, which hasn’t a hope of holding his big frame steady. It gives way and he begins to fall, and Kim is surprised that in spite of his size, he crumples to the ground slowly, like a falling leaf. People around him move back in alarm as he reaches the floor, and after a puzzled pause, they rush back to fill the vacuum around him. Someone yells for help, to phone an ambulance. Does anyone here know first aid? Kim pushes backwards till she can feel the cool wall behind her. She knows first aid. She knows years of bloody medical aid. Didn’t her father coach her, showing her how things work in his surgery, buying her books, and giving ‘special’ lessons to his special daughter? Yeah, she knows first aid alright. Two years of wasted study, and worry, and failure, all at Dad’s behest. Well Dad, I ain’t gonna study no more. She clings to the wall, and watches.

People buzz around the stricken builder, no one sure what to do but all trying to help. Someone lifts his legs in the air; another feels his wrist for a pulse. A woman kneels over him, jabbering excitedly in her phone, presumably phoning for help. Someone else rushes outside.
The main door opens again, and a guy in green work clothes rushes in, and drops down beside the man. A bloody paramedic, out of nowhere like a guardian angel. How in the hell? Two seconds later, his colleague appears through the doorway. This builder must be the luckiest sod around. Except, he’s not in great shape. His face is ashen, and he’s no longer gasping for air, he’s not gasping, at all. His eyes are open wide in shock but don’t seem to register anything around him. The paramedics are talking, checking, working, but the man doesn’t move. Kim moves silently around the wall till she is standing facing him, not approaching, but she can see his pale face better now, locked in stunned surprise. No one pays her the slightest bit of notice, but the man’s blank eyes blink and he sees her there, and his expression pleads with her ‘No. Not this. Please do something..’ Her heart aches for him, but she cant help now. She never could. She holds her stare on his, the connection of her pain to his all she can offer, until his gaze falls flat, and he stares at nothing again.

She can’t stay here. The medics work on, but it’s hopeless. He’s a goner, she knows. She walks to the door, and in the fuss, no one sees her go. Back out in the cold street, she can see where the paramedics magically came from. An ambulance sits askew in the street, lights flashing, but doors closed. A police car further along adds to the scene with its own slow blue flicker. A person has been hurt on the street, but there’s no sign of them now, just the collected jumble of emergency services and puzzled onlookers. A bus is stopped, idling, half on, half off the footpath. Its driver in his blue blazer is sitting on the kerb. He sobs into his hands, a woman sits with him and slowly pats his back. ‘She just stepped out in front of me. She looked at me and just walked out… She looked at me…’ His hands grab fistfuls of his hair and pull at it, as if the pain will make him wake up from all this.

Kim glances at the street, where a dark wet stain is all that remains of the victim of the accident. A female garda is stooping in the road, picking up the scattered remains of the girls handbag. Kim knows the contents without looking. Lipstick, Clarins makeup, biro, bus pass, a post office book, containing the grand total of fifty six euro and four cents. And, damp in the gutter, a crumpled up college letter.

She looks away from the scene, and gazes up at the clear sky. It’s blue, like always, with fluffy clouds scudding across in the gap between the buildings. Somehow, she thought it would look different, now.

‘So, where to?’ She wonders, and in spite of herself, she smiles a wry smile. ‘God only knows’, she thinks. Kim chooses the end of the street that looks brightest, and begins walking. Her fancy, four inch mary janes don’t make a sound.

pickarooney

Version 17

Lunchtime queues were always miserable. Kim glared at the man in the green jacket who had pushed his way past her. The snuffling, grunting oaf was probably going to take ages at the counter, and she only had half an hour before class.

She looked down again at the letter in her hand. She had no idea if it would work, but it was her only hope now. Her score in the last Clinical Practice lab had clinched it. If she wanted to stay in medicine, she'd need uncle Francis on her side. One word from him and those test scores would be swept under the rug, her place in third year assured. She looked over the letter again, tucked it back into the envelope and dropped her hand, agitatedly flapping it at her side.

The clerk called the next person up: mister green tweed. He didn't seem to notice. Kim tapped him on the shoulder and nodded tartly towards the counter. The man took a few agonisingly slow, shuffling steps to the counter, and paused. The envelope tapped faster against her hip. As she watched the man he began to sway, then crumpled in a heap of cheap woollen-wear. Kim gawked for a moment before stepping around him to the counter.

The clerk peered past her to the crumpled splotch of green on the floor.

“Is he alright, do you think?”

“Sure, I think he's just...” Kim rolled her eyes ever so slightly as she looked back at the man. She felt her chest sink. No, he wasn't alright. She reached in her pocket for her mobile, then stopped and looked at the man again.

Another man in a blue jumper was already kneeling beside him. The man in blue looked up at Kim, then around the post office.

“Is there a doctor here?” he shouted, obviously panicking as he rolled the man in green onto his back.

“No! Don't do that!” Kim yelled before slapping her palm across her mouth. The man looked up at her, eyes wide under thick caterpillar eyebrows and his mouth ever so slightly agape.

“Do you know CPR, miss? Help him, please!” the man in the blue jumper pleaded.

Kim did know CPR, in theory. She stuttered objections as she turned a quick circle on her heel, looking at the concerned and curious faces gathering around them. She tiptoed nervously towards the man on the floor, the envelope slapping furiously against her palm.

As she got closer to the man in green she could clearly see the blue colour in his lips and remembered the heaviness of his breathing just moments before. Pulmonary embolism? Myocardial infarction? Eczema marginatum? She knelt down to take his pulse. He was still breathing, but only just.

“Has someone dialled 999? I think he's had a pulmonary embolism,” she said, picking the first thing that came to mind.

“I did,” the man kneeling beside her said raising his hand, “but what should we do till they get here?”

Kim shot a nervous glance at the door before blurting out: “Keep his head elevated, don't let him swallow his tongue.”

“Is he breathing? What about CPR?” the man in the blue jumper stared at her, his caterpillar eyebrows arched with concern.

“Oh yeah, it's easy,” she said, parroting her lab instructor, “just tilt his head back and breathe into him. Make a tight seal.” The man in blue leaned in closer and locked lips with the man in green. Veins sprouted on his forehead as his woolly eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Does anyone have a pen?” Kim called out, glancing at the blank envelope in her hand. A smartly dressed businesswoman stepped forward immediately, a ballpoint pen clutched in her extended hand. The eagerness on the woman's face unnerved Kim as she reluctantly grasped the pen.

“Are you going to do one of,” the woman excitedly stabbed a finger at her throat, “one of those things?”

Kim stared blankly at her. She'd never even administered a catheter without injury. “Sure, just let me get...” Kim trailed off as she took a few tentative steps back to the man, then straight past him to the door. Once the handle was within reach, she threw herself against it and into the cool, fresh air outside. Leaning against the wall Kim gasped for breath, the envelope a blur of motion in her hand. She lifted her thigh, slapped the envelope across it, and scrawled out an address just as a pair of paramedics rushed past her through the door.

“F**k registered post, it'll get there,” Kim cursed as she turned and punched a few coins into the stamp vending machine. As the packet dropped into the tray she could still faintly hear the commotion inside, the man in blue exclaiming to the paramedics: “Where's the doctor? Did you all see? She saved this man's life!”

pickarooney

Version 17

A façade of gloom was plastered on the melting statues, all in a row. We stood motionless willing our way to freedom.
After minutes of queuing my hands were thick with treacle-like sweat.
They hadn't felt dexterous in as long as I could remember but now they're just limp tools, rusting in sunlight. The fingers lazy epiphytes sucking moisture and sunlight from my arms. Paws clutching a poorly sealed hunk of manilla now mottled with gungey perspiration.
Useless.
Tepid air hung from my eyelids like a 2 day binge. In an effort to stave off the mid-day fatigue I started counting the number of words on some poster about TV licences.
The person behind me turned tail and gave up. I was last again.
31.
Then the letters.
My cheeks began to burn with impatience as we took a single forward shuffle.
171.
Then the vowels.
The queue still motionless effigies. The momentary despair of tedium caught in the jaw of each person in the row.
42.
A clatter-thud and wheeze ever so briefly interrupted the scattered prayers of the flock.
I looked up to catch the ashen face of a dowdy cashier. Something suddenly out of place. Her passive gaze had been interrupted with something approaching emotion.
The crowd parted in impassive silence to reveal a lump of quivering green. A hunched man-shape slowly shrinking further to the floor. He stopped with his back turned to all. Just old work pants, dowdy well-worn shoes and a green sport coat. Threadbare at the sleeves. He looked humble. As he lost consciousness he landed in a penitent heap, on his stomach with arms outstretched as if the till as an altar. From his hand a handkerchief fell loose, speckled lightly in red and brown.
From impatient to patient in one near silent tumble.
Confusion appeared on suddenly unmasked faces.

This is not what this queue is for.

So distracted by the fall I think we all only noticed the child in the seconds before she began to wail.
Her eyes darkened in a brash cocktail of fear and confusion. Powerless.
The self-assured optimism of meek youth shattered before our eyes. Her hand was still trying to clasp his but the man was limp, unconscious. Still clinging on, waiting for normality to return.
Somebody needed to help. For agonizing seconds everyone was frozen, waiting for the deluge.
The girl's face contorted. Her hands let go of his and went to her eyes, now filling with tears as the first whine of her bawling lamentation seemed to shunt everyone back to action.
In a sudden rush of more moments the cashier was at his side as the queue blushed for the want of activity. Somebody was ringing an ambulance as another attempted to comfort the girl. The green jacket remained still, impassive. Grey hair sprouted from above the collar. His face still obscured.

A pair of shivering glutinous paws hungry for recognition stayed at my sides.
I couldn't help green jacket anyway. Not a patient but a court case.
I turned and left. The parcel can wait.

Saviour fresh air steadied my gait.
As I walked home I listened out for the sound of an ascending siren. Looked out for the flashing lights. But they never came.

ToasterSparks

Version 18

Firstly, a few interesting observations - Most of the Kims seem to be very angry characters. I was also surprised by how many people created a male character - given how Kim is usually (I would imagine) perceived to be a female name.


I voted for Version 17 - I think it stood out for me more than any of the others. I loved Kim's character and her almost selfish attitude made her very appealing. There was almost a comic feel to the piece - Kim sidestepping the guy after he fell, and the woman wondering if Kim was gonna use the biro to clear his airway ... only for her to use it to address her envelope. She's definitely the character that I would love to read more about again in the future.

I felt voting for one story was the best approach, but I also liked the theme of pressure that could be seen across all the stories. Version 14 was one in which I felt I could feel it the most. Version 13 stood out in this regard too, with

Kim dreaming about the entire post-office scenario

.


That's about it, but all the entries were quite good. I'm glad we had this competition.

Spiritoftheseventies

Version 2

went for version one. Must say the standard was very high. Well done to all.

Oryx

Version 18

I voted for four stories. I felt that a lot of people went to a lot of effort, and I wanted my vote to count for more than just one of them.

Number one I liked simply because of its originality. It grabbed me, because I had to figure out what was going on. I especially liked the lines where a character said he couldnt be sick cos the dog was tied up outside, and 'its stopped hurting'. Very poignant.

Eight I liked from the second paragraph onwards. A very cool (as in cold) description of a very cooly undertaken suicide. Not perfect, but ended wonderfully.

Fourteen I chose simply because it was well put together. The dialogue really came across well, particularly in the second section.

Seventeen had a nice punchline. You expect altruisim, you get self interest. I liked the unexpected twist of that.

Unfortunately because all the stories were so similar, it got hard to stay interested, I think the stories further along suffered, as I was beginning to feel I heard it all before. Those that stood out were the ones that surprised me. The ones that went too far outside the box though, just went too far for me, personally. The humerous one (Kimothy) was a bit crazy, but just not crazy enough to work, imo.

HalloweenJack

Version 16

I went for #2, #9 & #15.

#2: I really enjoyed the self-analysis part of it and the mix between inner and outer actions.

#9: I don't know really. It just stood out for me, it seemed to be happier than the other entries and I was interested the whole time.

#15: I really enjoyed the character's aggressive edginess more than anything.

Some other good stories in there and some other ones I didn't like.

For instance, the jokey one, #5, didn't work for me. I found it irritating to read.

With #4, I felt the first bit,

about the flatmates

, could have been cut. It didn't add to the story, imo. It also had a slightly surreal protagonist.

#12 was a good twist on the story but I guess I was expecting something different and, for me, the story itself wasn't too interesting.

#1 had a very unique approach but it just confused me. I was about halfway down before I realised

you were eavesdropping on four seperate characters' thoughts

.

Also, I felt the authors of #6, #7, #10, #11 and #14 could have reached a bit further with their endings.

Overall though, I think it was a great idea for a competition and I really hope we can do it again.

Dublin141

Version 16

I read the stories a couple of times and finally decided to vote for version 15. I liked how aggressive and matter of fact the voice was and how much we learn about Kim in a relatively small amount of words. It was the one story that stood out for me the most. I remembered it whereas a lot of the others seemed to blend into one in my memory.

I might have liked 13 but anything that ends that way infuriates me, sorry. I thought 1 was a good idea but I found it hard to read so ended up skimming, that probably had more to do with how the formatting looks on a thread like this. I've completely forgotten what else I wanted to say.

I enjoyed reading everyone's entries and also thought it was funny how so many people made the man in the green jacket repulsive and Kim self centred. A lot of like minded people on Boards! Anyway, 'twas fun, thanks for organising it.

dawvee

Version 17

I decided to be good and not vote for my own.

In the end I voted for 2, 5 and 16.

Voted 2 because it does well reminding me of the aphorism, "50% of doctors graduated in the bottom half of their class." The protagonist is an unlikeable jellyfish, but his internal jellyfish thoughts are portrayed to good effect.

I liked 5 because it was absurd and mean. I found it funny. The ending was punchy and tied in to the rest of the story, which was good. Could be tightened up, but there was something there that appealed to me.

Finally, I voted for 16 because it had some great moments in it, and the twist at the end was much more effective for me than the 'it was all a dream' one.

A few comments on the others, too:

I felt 1 was a bit contrived and confusing. There are some great stream of consciousness observations and lines in there. The language and characterization are great, but the storytelling is a bit weak.

Some of them felt like they crammed way too much into the available word count, notably 4, 7 and 8. If they were pared down and then what's left elaborated on, I think they would improve for it.

The voice/tone in 15 really bothered me for some reason. For a first person present tense narrative, the tone is purely conversational with phrases like "You see, blah..." It makes no sense, and I found it jarring. Narrative context matters, and it was incoherent in this one.

I also agree with those who said they all tended to blur together by the end. I imagine I might have felt more strongly about a number of them if I were reading them in isolation rather than amidst a sea of Kims and green jacketed men.

GEGSTER24

Version 10

I voted on version9 as it had me interested from the start,parts totaly reminded me of a normal day in the post office.I did like 15 but all the swear words were abit over done.

Killer_banana

Version 17

I voted for 1, 3, 5, 12 and 16. I@m crap at explaining why I like things so this post probably own't make much sense.

One: I liked this because it was a orginal and unique response. A little confusing at first but very good once you got into it in my opinion.

Three: Another original and unique response. Needed a little more work and to be tightened up a bit but very good nonetheles.

Five: This was ridiculous and a bit odd but it knew it was ridculous and odd and didn't care so I liked it a lot. It was nice to see the story taken a little less seriously but still told quite well.

Twelve: The most 'unique' (I need a new word) entry I think. I liked how they managed to stick to the bare skeleton yet tell something very different from the rest of us. Needs a bit of revision I think and a better ending but very good and props for thinking outside the box.

Sixteen: I found this very emotive and I like the twist ending,. I found the part where she was looking into the mans eyes very emotive and well written. I also liked that althoguh she

died at the end it wasn't sad but rather hopeful and upbeat, something most writers would not have thought of.

Well that's my two cents and I was even fair enough not to vote for myself. Good luck to everyone and may the best writer win. (so not me then :P)

af_thefragile

Med school's taken its toll over me and hence I couldn't find the time to write anything...

But I'm surely gonna make it a point to read all the stories you guys came up with. It should be really interesting!!

davyjose

Version 3

af_thefragile wrote: »

Med school's taken its toll over me and hence I couldn't find the time to write anything...

But I'm surely gonna make it a point to read all the stories you guys came up with. It should be really interesting!!

Kim?

Memnoch

Version 16

Here are my reviews:

Firstly, thanks to pickarooney for organising and hosting this event, it was a lot of fun to participate (and might I be bold as to suggest that while we wait on more feedback on this one, there's no harm in considering our next exercise for the month of april?). Also for his work in general on the creative writing forums, as anyone who's been in a group of this kind knows that without an enthusiastic and active moderator things tend to fall apart quite quickly.

I enjoyed reading the excerpts though they do seem to blend a little. Which is why I tried to space my reading out, not more than 3-4 at a time. Good job to everyone, I think boardsies have acquitted ourselves quite well here. It's interesting to see the contrasting styles and some great creativity. Even more interesting to read some of the feedback thus far and the diversity of opinion and taste is quite illuminating.

One thing that turned me off for sure and was a common thread in a few stories was when the man in the green jacket was portrayed as an undesirable and ugly or smelly. I felt this was a bit of a cop out, either to fill more description for the sake of it or to give kim an easy excuse.

My personal favourite is version 3. I think this is a great example of the joys of short stories. There are some things you just can't do in a novel but can be really effective and clever in the short story format, and that's just what this is. I was really surprised that not more people liked it. The poker analogy in the actual STYLE of writing, so deftly weaved in while tying in to the character's raison d'être is brilliant. As is the voice. Two minor criticisms. The POV shift to the old guy in the middle. It jarred and broke the immersion of the story. And I felt the ending wasn't as strong as the rest of the story.

I like the idea behind version 1, again written in a unique style, but I don't feel the author pulled it off as successfully as in #3.

#5 tries to be humourous and while it does succeed on occasion, it didn't really work enough for me.

#7 While I like the idea behind seven of personal accountability, Kim's actions and motivations did not feel believable to me.

#16 does the suicide angle a lot better, and is the one excerpt I'm really torn about. I've gone repeatedly from wanting to vote for it to not wanting to vote for it. On the one hand I found the story to be slow and felt the author was adding detail for the sake of it or to try and demonstrate writing skill, and this hampered the mood rather than enhanced it. But I do like the sprinkling of details that adds more meaning to the story on a second read through. I also feel that the author does a good job of building mood, tone and tension towards the end. However the whole, "dead people who don't know that they're dead," that was popularised by the sixth sense has been done a lot I feel, and in this sense the story wasn't as original as it could have been and I find the concept on the whole to be difficult to suspend my beliefs about.

#15 I felt was very strong. It's written in a colloquial voice that is one I feel would appeal to most readers. Despite this apparent simplicity of style and the use of vernacular, there is a lot of thought behind the story. The theme of drug use is artfully tied in and lends a lot of power and believability to the character. I really wanted to find something to criticise in this version but couldn't.

#9 I have a feeling that I know the author/have met them before. The descriptive style seems familiar. While I like the choice of mood over all else I felt it could have been paired back a little. Also this was one of the stories where the man was described as ugly/undesirable and that put me off.

I wanted to vote only for #3 as I felt it would be a stronger vote that way, but #15 threatened to bash my f**king skull in if I didn't vote for it. Obviously, I've not voted for myself.

Good job to all.

pickarooney

Version 17

I've been very harsh in my reviews, possibly too harsh in cases, but these were my gut reactions and I thought I should go with them.


VERSION 1
This one stood out for its unique approach, telling the story from several angles at once. It's a little disorienting at first – I was about three-quarters way through before I figured out what was going on – and demands a couple of reads. The time frame is very short, just a high-octane snapshot of a brief incident but it suits the style of the piece and would probably be difficult to follow in a longer story.

VERSION 2
A very straightforward take on the story. Well written, nice attention to detail, but ultimately lacking that extra something to elevate it above average.

VERSION 3
I could hear a double-bass playing in the background reading this one. A very moody piece with interesting word play.

VERSION 4
I found it hard to buy that a girl would allow herself to be called 'Creature', but other than that I liked that this piece moved out of the strict confines of the post office. Some of the sentences are a little confusing (38 Cadbury's cream eggs were on his head?) and there are a fair few spelling mistakes, but nothing that a rewrite wouldn't resolve.

VERSION 5
Funny, definitely, but trying a little too hard in places. With a serious bit of editing it could be a very good story. Sentences need to be shortened, extraneous adjectives jettisoned and some of the 'gags for the sake of gags' don't work.

Kim was glad that somebody had literally dropped out of the queue because he was in a major hurry to get home before Eastenders ended as he liked the end-credits music and was in the process of stepping over the man’s body when a strapping gentleman wearing a lovely pinstripe suit and carrying an understated leather briefcase yellingly asked “Is anyone here a doctor?” in an authoritative manner.

For example, is overly descriptive for little gain, compared to incidental, throwaway quips like

World Head of Medicine Dr. Sigourney Sailor

which had me in stitches.
Overall an enjoyable read and one of the pieces with the most potential.

VERSION 6
One of the few genuinely optimistic versions. A nice, upbeat story, well written if unremarkable in terms of plot. Nicely paced.

VERSION 7
Possibly a misunderstanding, this one begins with the entire skeleton. That notwithstanding, the story stands up well on its own. The writing could be a little tighter and not so explicit and all the familiar themes are there – parental pressure and disappointment, indecision and a tragic end.
It's let down by a lack of variety, typified by passages such as

All of a sudden, the sound of approaching sirens snaps her out of her daydream. The paramedics enter the post office and come over to Kim and the man. She explains her diagnosis to them, and backs away to let them treat the man. After spending only thirty seconds examining the man, the paramedics make an announcement that chills Kim to the bone: the man is dead. They tell her that the man hadn't fainted, but had suffered a heart attack. Kim is stunned. One mistake, one misdiagnosis, had just cost this man his life. But it wasn't just a mistake. It was her mistake.

Mixing this up a bit and shortening it would improve the story a lot.

VERSION 8
The (randomly selected) order of the stories has us with one suicide following another. Heavy! Thumbs up on expanding the story beyond the post-office again and showing us a bit more of Kim's life. The narrative itself is a little sluggish and a number of sentences are kick-started with 'Suddenly', which is a bit of a no-no. In later passages it's "She did this, she did that, she did the other". It needs a bit of an overhaul to make it run a bit smoother but there's definitely a lot to work with here. Ending is well realised.

VERSION 9
I find it very hard to find much to say about this version. There's very little wrong with it, but it's so similar to so many of the others (and they to it, obviously enough) that it lacks anything particularly distinctive.

VERSION 10
It's all tell, tell, tell with this one and I found the numerous basic grammatical errors quite off-putting – "where" for "were" and repeated tense-shifts for example. I was wondering would anyone make the old man Kim's father and it's a pity this wasn't explored in more depth. The double-bombshell of bumping into her estranged father and having to put her medical knowledge into practice unexpectedly could have yielded so much more.

VERSION 11
Some nice bits in this one. I like the early passage where her medical paraphernalia are revealed one by one. It's a pity there aren't more clever touches as it drags on later with pointless backstory and repetition of the long hours, hard word mantra. However, I quite liked the misanthropic slant to this story; it reads like the voice of bitter experience. It needs a fair bit of trimming.

VERSION 12
A complete change of scenery here. Little things like their being four men in green coats I found more ingenious than the setting itself. I had to read it three times to understand the story, possibly because I was tired but also because it's a little disorienting on first read. Overall a very nicely written and engaging tale with a definite "what happens next?" appeal.

VERSION 13
The Bobby-Ewing ending seems tacked on for effect and doesn't really do much for a piece which is very much join-the-dots. It's by no means a bad story, it just suffers from being nearly identical to many of those around it.

VERSION 14
I liked the notion presented in this version that nice, modest, caring parents can be just as much a pressure as the cold, wealthy, overbearing kind who pop up in other stories. Equally refreshing was the outcome - even though Kim tries her best, the man dies, but that itself is not the issue; she did what she had to do.

VERSION 15
This is the second story to use that really jarring 'you see' to begin a sentence. It throws the reader off as it moves from internal monologue to narration without warning. I loved the character though, and his open hostility to just about everything. Bizarrely, despite his obvious addiction problem, he's one of the few Kims who comes across as though he would do well as a doctor, his detached efficiency at odds with the nervous fumbling of most of the other protagonists. I wouldn't want him as my doctor though. Tenses tend to jump a bit. Care should be taken when revising.

VERSION 16
There's nothing particularly original about the 6th-sense ending but it's still a finely-written piece with just enough clues in the text to give you that 'ah for ****s sake, d'oh!" feeling at the end. Stands up well on repeated reading and flows most of the way through.

VERSION 17
I really liked the neatly ironic twist at the end. In direct opposition to Version 14 Kim does nothing but the man survives and she even gets the plaudits. The story itself is quite run of the mill but very nicely paced and in interesting version of the main character who seems as though she could go far on serendipity and good connections.

VERSION 18
A lot of style with not a huge amount of substance, this one reads as though the author is trying to couch a simple story in flashy words. And in some places it works well ("not a patient, but a court case", " I was last again.")– it is, by definition, a simple tale, and the style of its telling is that marks one out above another – and in others less so ("lazy epiphytes", "hunk of manila"). There's something to work with, definitely, but it needs a whole load of polishing.

I voted for versions 1, 12 and 16 with honourable mentions to 3, 11 and 15