Prompt: Write about the worst phone call you ever had to make
I knew there was no putting it off any longer. The kitchen was spotless. The dishes were all emptied from the sink. The trash was taken out. All of the questionable food in my fridge was unceremoniously dumped. The floor was swept and mopped. The cabinets were dusted. It would have taken an electron microscope to see a single iota of dust anywhere, save for the letter folded neatly on the table. The letter I had been waiting two agonizing weeks for. It’s a cruel thing that doctors do, making someone wait so long as their lives hang in the balance. Forcing them to replay every bad choice they’ve ever made. They certainly don’t see it that way, since they’re so used to the specter of death hanging over their heads. Well, I think I speak for all patients when I say that I am not used to it. But really, there’s no use in being angry at the doctor, he didn’t make me sick. I wish that I was more careful. I wish that I didn’t have to put her through this. Why did she pick me of everyone else out there? She could have loved someone better, more responsible, cleaner. Instead, all she has is me and my envelope. And pretty soon, once I finally call her, she’ll have an envelope of her own. I hope hers bears good news.