I'm not sure why I penned this story; other than the fact it's a testament to my bizarre sense of humor. But I hope whatever terrible situation I may get into in the future, I could look at it with some laughter.
Ceiling Tiles and Laughter
The ceiling tiles hadn’t changed. Even now as he lay in a different room than the one he had entered, they remained plain. Same old white, same old specks and pock marks. He glanced to his left, taking note of the monitor tracking his pulse. Inhaling slowly, he eased himself up, resting tentatively on his elbows.
Things had changed, but he’d been too nervous the past few days to look. Nurses said he was lucky, they said he could learn and everything would be back to normal. Giving them a smile and a nod was the best response he could muster. Fingers tense as they curled around the blanket, he shifted and pulled back the sheets.
It wasn’t as bad now, finally laying his eyes on it. He’d been so doped up on pain killers; he couldn’t believe what they’d told him. Now he could finally see it for himself. Running his hand down the flesh of his thigh, he came to the bandage and gauze that adorned his leg; or what remained. A few moments of staring at it, he laughed. After days of being angry, melancholy and overwhelmed, all that remained was laughter.
He must have been loud, because next thing he knew, his nurse rushed in. Wiping stray tears from the corners of his eyes, he grinned up at her. The woman looked flustered, unsure what to think of her patient’s current mood.
“I think I’ll name it, McStumpy,” he beamed.
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