Bed

She wandered through the furniture store like Goldilocks, trying every bed. None of them were comfortable. Never. Nothing was comfortable – chairs, beds, standing up, sitting down, walking, not walking. In her pocket was a newly refilled prescription for Oxy, enough to end her pain forever. She cradled the cylinder full of pills like an old friend.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “bed.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “Bed”

  1. “You just wanna go to bed with me,” I said, “Don’t pretend to be about more than that.”

    “Bed…I’d go to the bathroom at the bar, a nice hotel, the beach at night…with you. Anywhere you want, baby.”

    I rolled my eyes. “What I mean is you just want to fuck me,” I said, lighting a cigarette, “and I want someone to watch movies with me, hold hands in the rain, listen when I talk.”

    Yeah,” he scratched his head, “in the words of Bob Dylan, ‘it ain’t me, babe’.”

    1. mmmm Bed!!! Bed brings to mind the wonderful memories I can conjure up after my divorce. When I married the first time I was a virgin. While I was married let’s just say my husband was quick as a rabbit; not very sensitive. I think felt sex/love-making was meant to only pleasure the man. Yee Gods, woman! Smarten up! Luckily I finally left that hell hole. Twasn’t just his inferior love-making that would have made me leave. It also happened that he would every so often become physically abusive. The last time frightened me so much because he choked me. I literally blacked out. Okay, it was only for a few seconds, but I did black out. I was terrified. Understandably when I left him my brand new queen-sized bed with its luxurious soft sheets and comforter was my haven. Each night after working some pretty long hours in a very fast-paced job I’d climb into that bed with my newly adopted kitten and a good book. Reading until eleven or so with the light on (not bothering a bed mate) was delicious. Eventually I ventured out and was very cautious and selective about meeting some pretty nice gentlemen. I did, of course, finally have a bit of fun building up experience dating and making love to a variety of men. If my bed could talk! Needless to say, I learned a lot. I did what all the boys of my era did: I finally “sowed my oats.” I had one hell of a merry time in that bed until I settled down to a lovely caring man. I think all females should have the same rights as males to “sow their oats.” I’m happy to see how the world is changing in that regard. Go girl!!!

  2. A bed of roses is a metaphor for life. It’s beautiful; it’s full of thorns; it’s colorful; it’s attractive; it’s repellent; it’s inviting; it is what it is but it can – and probably will, given today’s technology – morph into something new. Like that bed of roses, it’s up to us which face we present to the world and which face we use in our interactions.

  3. They couldn’t afford a king sized bed… They were barely earning enough to feed themselves. Their new place had one bed for the both of them but at least there was one; previously it had been a tiny mattress on the floor.
    They spent their first night twisting and turning together on a bed that was meant just for one…but when they woke up, they were not thinking of the tiny bed or the disturbed sleep. They were smiling because they were in each other’s arms the entire time…

  4. I slowly opened the door to the hotel room, and my eyes went straight to the bed. There it was in its early 20th century glory, an iron bedstead, two limp pillows, and a bedspread that belonged to the 1960’s. I guess forty dollars didn’t match my expectation!

  5. There were numerous “newar beds” with mattresses. There were white sheets and lumpy pillows in white too. Each bed had a small locker too, which had some personal efects of the last occupant.Mine had half a tube of Boroline , a used train ticket and a half smoked joint of i-dont-want-to-know-what .This was supposed to be our lodgings for the next year and half. But ebullience won over . I remember pillow fights and delicious gossip sessions during the nights. I also remember raiding some one’s suitcase along with others , for paltry snack packets ., without any qualms of conscience.
    Morning we had to queue for the loo and everyone with a person behind was in the danger of having her back smeared with toothpaste foam . Gross! Not to mention throwing of soap suds over the short walls to your neighbouring shower stall, to be met with a volley of abuses. To race to the dining hall , so that one is not the last one to have breakfast, in which case, you’ll get broken boiled eggs, hard ,cold toast, and no butter/jam. Even the tea could turn cold if one was not quick enough.
    This is where I learnt to bolt my food.

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