<body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d3440559\x26blogName\x3dWonder+Boy\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLACK\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den_US\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://wonderboyblog.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d-3433295434139304058', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

Life is only what you wonder.

Tuesday, July 15, 2003

A Five Minute Story

Hell Has No Flavor

He sat there in bed and stared at the plate that had been set before him. By the rumbling in his stomach he could tell he was hungry, but he didn't know if he could eat or not. He would probably have to force himself again.
He sniffed the air, inhaled the steam coming from the plate. Nothing.
He had lost his senses of smell and taste three days ago.
He'd asked the doctor about it, of course.
"Nothing to worry about, Scottie." Dr. Maxwell had said, "Just a reaction to the new drugs. You should be back to normal in a few days."
Scott would have been more assured if Dr. Maxwell had smiled or there was a hint of warmth in his voice, but he had been as impersonal as a textbook. He was surprised the doctor had said even that much. Nobody would ever call Dr. Maxwell talkative. Last week when the doctor told him he was changing his prescription Scott didn't even bother to ask what they were changing it to.
The drugs seemed to be working, though. He hadn't had an episode in a whole week. They would be letting him out soon, he was sure of it.
He speared a forkful of meatloaf, inserted it in his mouth, chewed, and forced himself to swallow.
Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Hospital food was supposed to taste bad, right?
Actually, he would rather it had tasted bad, taste like anything--even something vile and despised.
Any flavor was better than this nothing.