The Best Thing

The car seems to know the way to the lab where they draw blood out of my arm by itself. People are quiet there, hoping things will go quickly and they can get on with their day. Everyone stares at their phone and waits to hear their number called. When I finally get called to the back, I realize the best thing about summer is you already have on a short sleeved shirt if you need your blood drained away. Makes it so much easier, doesn’t it?

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

Advertisements

Author: Virginia DeBolt

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

3 thoughts on “The Best Thing”

  1. What would a very old woman say to her very young grandchildren about going to school? At this moment in time, it’s challenging. “Stay alert,” might be the best thing–if a wish were a “thing”–that she could offer.

  2. The best thing is to always admit if you’ve made a mistake; to feel satisfaction if you’ve done a good job; to always ask for an opinion; to always say “if you please” and “thank you” and to always consider the “we” and not only the “I.” These are the short lessons in human relations…

  3. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
    She smiled. He was right. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. And she would be sure he was reminded of that fact every day.
    “You would be lost without me,” she said. She almost purred, and like a cat, she arched her back for his stroking hand.
    His hand stopped moving.
    “Maybe. I think I could manage.”
    “Oh really.” She rolled against him, eyes languid and laughing. “Honey, what would you do without my money, my house, my car, my friends? You know you need me.”
    He stood up suddenly and she almost fell out of the bed.
    “I don’t know,” he said, “but it’s time I found out. See ya, Anna. It’s been good, but I’m outta here.”
    “Ha! Where will you go? How will you go? Remember, my car, my money.” Anger flashed over her face. “You can’t leave me, big boy. You’re mine. Bought and paid for.”
    “Yeah? Your mistake, Missy. Thanks for the birthday present.”
    He picked up his jacket and walked out the door. She scrambled out of the bed, wrapping a sheet around her. As she reached the door she saw him open the door of the truck she’d bought him. He waved her purse at her as he drove away.

An open space for your story

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s