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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
by RRP
I awoke from the dream (or nightmare, rather) drenched in sweat, and panting. Images continued to flash through my mind, and I attempted in vain to push them away. I sat up in the crummy motel bed, and looked around.
First things first- I turned the lamp on. Light helps. A pounding in my head and a dull aching in my thumb pushed me further towards the brink of depression, so I stood up and grabbed a glass of water. Well, I tried to.
It’s not quite that simple or easy anymore. I first tried to grab a glass with my left hand, momentarily forgetting. It still happens, sometimes. I forget that my thumb just isn’t there anymore. Especially when I’m tired.
So, I try to pick it up and the stupid thing slips out of my hand. I look down at the floor, and moan. Shattered glass, little tiny slivers of torture, lie about on the carpet, covered in crimson liquid. Blood. I stare dumbly at the stub for a brief second, as it hits me that it’s bleeding again.
So, I jump over the glass, and slide into the bathroom- running into the door, the wall, and the sink counter along the way. Hey, I said I was tired. Give a thumbless guy a break! My mind’s getting foggy, too. Probably from lack of blood. I should have noticed sooner, but when you constantly wake up surrounded by sticky gunk, you get used to the feeling and don’t notice as much.
I wrap a motel towel around my hand, and sit down on the toilet (the lid was down, of course). My whole arm is pretty much drenched in blood, and I realize mournfully that I’ll have to take yet another shower. Don’t get me wrong! I enjoy a good, hot shower. Once a day. But it’s gotten to the point where I’m taking three or four a day, and frankly, I’m getting tired of all the water.
So, (I’m using that word a lot. I need to stop.) I sigh, and turn on the shower faucet. I take off my shirt, with some difficulty (I’m only using one hand), and stick my arm into the stream of water. I’m too tired to get all the way in. After a couple minutes, I take my arm back out, and quickly dry it off before wrapping my hand again. The water certainly didn’t help the pain, and the towel isn’t doing any wonders either. The whole thing is getting annoying.
Half-an-hour later, I’ve got a new shirt on, I’ve stripped the bed sheets, attempted to comb my hair, and I finally can stand up without feeling dizzy. I guess I just gradually adjust to the loss of blood. I need to get a transfusion soon, or the thumb alone is going to kill me.
I pick up a standard, yellow legal tablet and a hotel pen, and sit down to practice. That must be the worst part about losing my left thumb- I can’t write anymore. Fluently, that is. I’ve been teaching myself to write with my right hand, and it’s not exactly easy. My handwriting still looks like some kindergartner’s. Ahh, well. I’m working on it.
It’s a while before I look at the clock. I finally looked up because my right hand was cramping. Ouch. It’s finally seven AM, a decent hour to call and…it hits me, once again.
Unlike many hotels I’ve been in, motels like these don’t offer room service. I’ve got to wrap my hand in an ace bandage, and go all the way to the nearest fast food restaurant. Not exactly my choice food source, but I can’t afford to eat at fancier places right now. Don’t have the money, or the time. Not to mention I look like some hobo. They’d never let me in.
Oh, joy. McDee’s, here I come.
