A short story for today and some artwork.
Door Number Green is a short story based on a prompt.
The butterflies at the bottom are from my daughter, drawn for another release.
*~*
Door Number Green
Moses pounded on the door. His po-po knock, as his wife called it. It often came in handy in getting people’s attention. He needed it now. Desperately. He shifted his burden, pounding again with weaker, icky thumps smearing red across the green paint.
“We don’t—”
“Open the door!” he roared. “I’ve got wounded!”
The door swung open and Moses fell in. Someone dragged him and his ward into the foyer before slamming the door.
Moses woke, blinking rapidly at the harsh light. He was on a bed in a small room with one closed door. On one side was a nightstand beside an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair at the bedside. On the other side of the bed hung a bloodbag and saline connected to his arm.
“Where is she?” Moses tried to rise, but a gently placed hand and the tourniquet still in place encouraged him to stay put.
“Somebody did you good, my man.” The old man’s voice was a raspy whisper.
“Where is she?” Moses repeated.
“She’s recovering. Same as you. It’s a miracle, it is. My nurse can tell you more. We heard the news of course but we didn’t believe it. Can you blame us? All the fake news out there these days. Where was she?” The man’s milky eyes glimmered with hope.
A soft knock at the door was followed by the entrance of a large male nurse. Moses caught a glimpse of his gear in the hallway.
The nurse talked as his hands busied themselves, checking bandages before pausing at the windlass. “Hi. My name is Sam. I’m Mr. Johnson’s home health nurse. I patched you up best I could. Luckily you and Mr. Johnson are both O+.” Sam undid the strap holding the windlass in place. “Now this is going to hurt.”
“No shit.” Moses took a deep breath, which confirmed at least one broken rib. “Do it.”
Moses groaned as his leg began to tingle with returning pain. The agony was raw and monstrous but tolerable.
“I gave you Dilaudid earlier. Let me know if you need some more.”
Moses shook his head.
“Your plates stopped most of the rounds, but I counted eight new holes in your body. That is not good for your health.” Sam redid the tourniquet, winding down the windlass and securing it in place. The minute of blood flow soaked several of the bandages around Moses’ calf. “Bad news is you’re probably going to lose the leg below the knee. Good news of course is now you’ll have a matching pair.”
“Where is she?”
“Was she at the park?” Mr. Johnson asked. “I always imagined someone would find her there.” His hands shook. “Tell me.”
“She’s in the kitchen. A few injuries. She’ll be fine. You did good, Moses. Some will call you a hero. Of course, most won’t. Boy did you pick the right house at the right time. I was just getting ready to leave when you pounded on the door!”
