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We Don't Know When It Will Be Fixed (100 word short story)
March 9, 2022
An uncomfortable chair. Scent of hand sanitizer clung to my nose. My not-so-twin brother beside me. Barely teenagers. Dad, on the crinkled paper of a bed not designed to be comforting. His surgeon with two first names said the words. “We don’t know when it will be fixed.” If it can be fixed.
A pillowy couch. Surrounded by rainbows and glitter, shoving a smile down my windpipe. Can’t breathe. She sat opposite me with a clipboard. The ocean streaming down my flushed cheeks. She said the words. “We don’t know when it will be fixed.” When will I be fixed?
© Gary C., Pequannock, NJ
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