jasonwhithamauthor

[jasonwhithamauthor]

Turn and Burn Mercy (Part 4)

“Rise and shine!”

The proclamation startled me awake. There was an immediate stinging pain, the same tear-inducing torment as the day before.

“Ahhh!” I complained, trying to shield myself with my arms and the blanket.

“No, no, no, Sir. Says here you need thirty minutes every morning before breakfast from now on,” announced the voice, apparently an attendant with no bedside manner, reading instructions from one of their tablets. He was certainly not a benevolent angel sent from God. How this mere mortal didn’t feel the need to introduce himself and felt perfectly comfortable entering my room and tugging my light-shielding blanket away greatly perplexed my more common senses.

“Why is this needed?” I demanded. “I had one of these so-called treatments yesterday.”

“Regrettably, I’m not a genius AI billionaire, but rest assured, Mr. Crouch, the Thrashes have extremely high success rates.”

Suddenly, a hard plastic cuff was attached to my right arm, then my left arm, and they were yanked apart and down to my sides.

“Ah, stop!” I barked. My whole body was lurched back and pinned to the bed, tightened like a shoelace.

I immediately made my feelings known about this constraint after realizing I was immobilized down to my midsection. “Well, the good news is that I believe I have a healthy, plentiful amount of pee. The bad news is that my arms seem to be restricted, and I’m stuck to this bed. Could you kindly pull down my pants and align your face with my stream?” I was proud of the calm restraint of my tone and a ten-out-of-ten snarky delivery, considering the circumstances and because I’m not much of a morning person anyway.

“Ha. I heard you were funny. Do you also like to laugh?”

“I’m into it, specifically the kind of laugh that makes people question my sanity.”

“Mmm, okay.” I think I heard him write something on his tablet. “Well, good news, you’re scheduled for some laughter yoga today.”

“I don’t exercise,” I replied sternly. “What else?”

“Activities, really, nothing here is optional, Mr. Crouch. It’s part of the deal you signed up for when you came here.” He insisted, “You will be doing outdoor laughter yoga, acupuncture with essential oils and soothing music, and art analysis today.”

Being in captivity because I never earned enough money to go to a normal hospital was humiliating, and not knowing how much more quackery I would need to endure before they would set me free was fretful. I became increasingly depressed during the 30-minute cornea-burning session.

“Can I just speak with someone?” I had to catch myself, afraid I might start crying in front of this attendant.

“Someone?” He challenged.

“Yeah, to explain whatever it is I have… why I have to... I mean, what these procedures are for?”

“No. I know you were given the opportunity to talk to a molecular nutritionist, but patients don’t normally get to speak with doctors at these facilities. It makes things more streamlined.”

“It would help a lot if I could…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Crouch, but my tablet indicates that further communication with the doctors is prohibited.”

I realized I did this to myself, arguing with the molecular nutritionist. At the time, there didn’t seem to be any harm in letting off some clever quips in the fight for dignity. The guy wasn’t going to let me have any tasty food anyway.

“Jeez. Can’t anyone take a joke?” I complained, voice cracking. How embarrassing.

“Joke? Says here that you verbally abused him?”

“No, no. I mean, I cursed but…”

“Well, there’s your answer. We just don’t have time for that kind of belligerent and unruly behavior. Now, get up,” he demanded, “It’s time to eat your smoothie.”

The confirmation that I screwed myself made me feel exceedingly despondent. Hopelessness quickly gripped me, like when I tried to argue with my former boss to keep me on, even just for a couple more months. Seemed like it was yesterday, but it had now happened nearly half a year ago. With no will to fight, I held my nose and poured the pond-scum smoothie down the hatch and complied with the attendant’s other orders.

How humiliating it was to be doing stretching exercises in tight-fitting spandex. While uniformly donned by all the yoga participants, self-esteem was not. I knew my finest points were not the high-definition shapes that the material revealed.

Furthermore, the roaming attendants wouldn’t just come close and describe how we should correct or improve our yoga poses. No, they would touch our legs, arms, backs… press, hold, and force us into deeper stretches. Attendant Ralph seemed like he was on top of me the whole session.

And, oh, God! I wanted Him to end my misery with a rapid neck twist when I heard the instructor’s jokes. One of them was, “What did one ocean say to the other? Nothing. They just waved.” Ugh, the roars she got from her corny jokes were unbelievable. I was briefly grateful when a short Chinese man led me away to my next activity.

“Sit hee-ah, sit hee-ah,” he commanded with a heavy accent and a finger pointed to a padded table. Once I figured out what he was saying, I sat down on it.

Then, he looked deep into my eyes and ordered, "Open yoah mouth weed and steek aht yoah tong."

“Why?”

“Do ahz I seh.”

I did, and with lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed my tongue.

My reflex was to try and grab his hand, but he swatted mine away. "Noh, I moost chek."

After some time of him rubbing and holding it, I started to get worried.

Then, he instructed, “Yoo lie down. Ree-lax.”

“Wha… What’s that in your hand?” I stuttered nervously, noticing something that looked potentially very painful.

"Uh tin stair-uhl nee-dull. Yoo noh woh-ree. Yoo feel ohn-lee a ting-luh. Juhst kloh-suh yohr ahys. Lie back."

I couldn’t though. “Where are you going to stick those?” I asked.

"Es-tee three-six, El one, El fourteen, Es-pee six, Gee-vee twenty, El-vee three… meh-nee poynts." He was pointing all along my stomach.

“Why though?”

"Eet foh yor Qi."

“My cheek, too?”

“Noh, yor Qi,” he corrected.

“What is that?”

Now holding up the threatening needle, he barked like a man of much greater stature, "Eh-nuff kwest-shunz. Yoo lee bahk aw yoo noh leek soh much. Lee bahk. Lee bahk.”

Intimidated, I lied back and squeezed my eyes, bracing myself for the pain.

There was just a slight prick. Then, another. Then, another. I peeked to discover the long needles sticking out of me. The man had another in his hand and looked like he was about to stick me again. I flinched. He turned and glared. “Noh. Kloh-suh yohr ahys. Kloh-suh yohr ahys. Tirty meen-its. Tirty meen-its.”

I started feeling some sensations of heaviness, warmth, and tingling at the needle sites. I wasn’t sure what the effect was supposed to be, but it wasn’t too bad.

The scent of lavender became very heavy a few minutes after all the needles were in. There was also a piney citrusy aroma that reminded me of a chicken dish my mother used to make. This helped me calm down some.

[jasonwhithamauthor]

Turn and Burn Mercy (Part 3)

After releasing some choice words about the staff, I was banned from the banquet room. Only one strange option was provided for lunch and dinner: a green-colored pond scum they called smoothies. And in between food torture, I was subjected to temperature torture. I wasn’t alone, though. They had a group of us—patients.

“Everyone!” a short, dark Hispanic man called out over the din. They had us crowded into a repurposed hotel room on the first floor. The debriefing was full of mostly middle-aged to, let’s say, golden-aged folks. Their physiques made me cringe, and I prayed I wouldn’t see any of them debriefed.

“Clap once if you can hear me,” the instructor tested.

A few clapped. I could hear him, but feeling a little hangry, I didn’t clap.

“Clap twice if you can hear me.”

The response was louder.

“Excelente. Do you see this stoplight above me? Sí or no?”

The monkeys responded in unison, “¡Sí!”

“These lights will be found at several places around the circuit. Be sure to look around and find them at each station. When it’s green, you will go to the next station. When it’s yellow, you better be at the next station, or we will help you get there. When it’s red, you will stay where you are. ¿Comprenden? Green, go; yellow, on delay; and red, stay put. ¿Claro? Sí or no?”

Everyone danced for the trainer.

“Since there’s only enough room for one at each station, I and the other staff will help you find your place on the first round. Everyone will start somewhere different but complete each and every station. ¿Comprenden? Sí or no?”

Someone raised a hand.

“Yes, señor?”

“When will we know when it’s over?”

“¡Bien! Good question. I and the other staff will send you back into this room. Any other questions?”

No one responded.

“In that case, we will wait for the light to turn green to let you out.” A moment later, he announced, “And there it is. Green means go. Everyone, please exit the room and head outdoors to the circuit.”

We all filed out and were herded to our stations. I stepped into a single-person hot tub. It was pretty sweet, even had jets that massaged my muscles for four glorious minutes before the stoplight signaled me to move on.

The next station was a cold shower.

“Go in fast. You’ll numb quickly,” advised an attendee.

“Thank you, but I’m very familiar with cold showers. My wife, whenever I left the seat up, would tell me I could go cool my jets, if you know what I mean.” I jumped in and gasped, but then felt the sensation pass.

I was thankful to discover that a hot shower awaited me at the following station. Some crooked senior had to be prodded along by an attendee as I approached. I felt a little sad when I heard him say, “Why? I liked that one. Can I stay here, please?”

Seeing a pattern forming, I was anticipating a polar plunge at the next station. Instead, it was a bath of small plastic beads.

“They’re like tiny ice packs. It’s a bit of a different sensation than an ice bath,” offered a mind-reading attendee.

“Actually, I like my drinks neat,” I joked. “Okay if I skip this one?”

“Ha ha. No, sir. Please enter, and we’ll get you something to satiate your thirst soon.”

“Ah!” I cried as I entered, stunned by the brutal chill of the bath.

“What?” he asked.

“Now I know how Jack and Coke feel on the rocks,” I cracked, and we both laughed as I shivered.

The subsequent hot metal bead bath was surprisingly even more uncomfortable. The temperature increased quickly, making me sweat, and the hard metal beads gave a prickling sensation.

“Please, can I get out?” I pleaded. “This kind of hurts.”

“It will be over soon. Just breathe in and out, sir, and watch the stoplight.”

After a dry hot sauna, the circuit ended with an exceptionally unpleasant freezer box. Rather than being rewarded, I was further punished with the surprise that cold temperatures still stimulated the erect turgor of otherwise saggy elderly ladies. I recoiled in disgust hurrying back to the rendezvous, trying to get as many behind me and out of my vision as possible.

“Congratulations, mis amigos y amigas! You’re through the hard part. Now you will take a quick shower, at whatever temperature you like,” the host chuckled. “Then, dry off and enjoy a primo Swedish massage.”

Some people sounded very excited about the massage, whooping and screeching. I felt worn out and just wanted to nap. Nevertheless, we were ushered along.

I discovered that Swedish massages were kind of weird. They pushed their hands along the muscle, which they called something like F-leverage. After just a few minutes, I felt tenderized—a beat-up piece of meat.

I was suddenly startled by a bright light. It flashed in my face and temporarily blinded me. I almost fell off the table, but someone ordered, “Don’t move! Put your arms down! You need to look at the light.”

“I’m not ready yet!” I yelled back to what I assumed was a heavenly being.

“No, we are still working on you.”

Then, I remembered that I was in the Thrashes’ facility and must have passed out while I was being mashed like squash casserole.

“Please, keep your eyes open,” urged the voice, which seemed not so heavenly now.

“No. It’s too bright.”

“It has to be. It’s a twenty-minute direct exposure. The sooner you open your eyes, the sooner it will be over.”

I tried to get off the table, but I was held down. “Sir, this is for your good. Stay still and open your eyes.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to look at the sun? How could impossibly bright lights be good for anyone?”

“Trust the process, sir,” he growled as he countered my stirring.

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes, and for a moment, I thought my retinas had been burned away.

“See?” the voice said smugly. “Not so bad, right?”

“Pros and cons,” I gasped. “I can’t see you, but I probably can’t see anything!”

[jasonwhithamauthor]

😂🍾🤪🎊🤭🎉Not to brag, but I already have a date for New Year’s Eve. It’s December 31st. #dating #joke #comedy #happynewyear #happynewyear2024 #happynewyear2025

[jasonwhithamauthor]

🤣🎆🎉🥳🎊🍾What should people never eat on New Year's Eve? Fire crackers. #HappyNewYear #happynewyear2024 #happynewyear2025

[jasonwhithamauthor]

🤣🎉🤪🍾Why did Dracula pass out on New Year's Eve? There was a count down. Happy New Years!

[jasonwhithamauthor]

Turn and Burn Mercy (Part 1)

Jason Whitham 12/2024

#shortstory #original #fiction #comedy #tragedy #thriller

Slept-in t-shirt and shorts felt underdressed for the room where breakfast was being served. The food selection resembled a royal banquet, with ten tables each displaying different kinds of very expensive-looking foods. Waitstaff were buzzing around the buffet, assisting the guests. Since I hadn’t packed a tie, and because the staff were tolerating the other casually dressed guests, I declared, “Laundry Day will have to wait.”

My attention was abruptly lassoed by a table covered in glorious red meat, including delicious-looking cured slices and marbled cuts. What we were supposed to do with the raw pieces was a mystery to me. Still, I grabbed a stack of what I assumed was sliced salami and other similar items, hoping to find some sharp cheddar and Monterey Jack to go with it from the cheese table.

A waiter was passing by just as I started walking toward a tasty-looking bread display, which rivaled any West Virginia bakery I’d been to. I asked if someone would cook the raw meats on the meats table if I wanted some. He replied, “I’ll get someone to help you.”

“How about a little George Foreman? I can grill it myself,” I grinned, half joking.

The waiter's expression made me think he’d rather hand-feed the meats to a fire-breathing dragon than let me near a cooking appliance. “That won’t be necessary. Where are you sitting, sir?”

I hadn’t picked a spot yet. Looking around, I found an open four-top table and pointed to it.

“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged and darted off.

After collecting a full plate of items from the buffet, I made my way to my seat.

A young blonde-haired waitress was waiting for me. “Did you order a turnupod, sir?”

Unsure what that was, I asked, “Is that spaceship piloted by turnips?”

“Ha, no. May I show you, sir?”

“Yes.” I was hungry, but my curiosity won out because I hadn’t actually ordered anything, certainly not a “turnupod.” I put my plate down and followed her.

The girl walked me over to the veggie table, which I had avoided during my first walk-through for the sake of saving plate and stomach real estate for other tastier foods. She picked up a long root vegetable and showed it to me. “This is a turnupod. They tell us it’s a specially engineered turnip. Would you like me to cut it into slices for you?”

“Slices? I suppose, after breakfast, we could make frisbees for the garden gnomes. If you mean for eating, I want you to have my share. Engineered turnips are not on my diet.”

The waitress leaned in, and I froze thinking she didn't like my joke and was going to hit me or something. Then, I saw she was cupping her hand, looking like she wanted to whisper in my ear. Her proximity and youthful beauty made me feel a little uneasy. Curiosity bested my insecurity. 'What kind of secrets could this waitress have about veggies?' I wondered and leaned forward, and turning my head slightly to listen to her. “The Thrashes are just trying to fix you, sir. Don’t make a big fuss," she warned forebodingly.

I felt a rush of anxiety come over me. I wondered, 'Why was she whispering? Were the Thrashes listening as well as watching?'

Wanting to escape, I turned toward my seat to grab my food and go back to my room. It was just in time to see a waiter pick up my plate. As he headed off in some purposeful direction, I hustled to intercept him. Stress and hunger were welling up inside me.

[jasonwhithamauthor]

Poem: Twas the Day After Christmas

Jason Whitham 2024

Twas the day after Christmas,

And I was on my way back.

When I was T-boned by SpaceX,

A Falcon Nine Black.

There was just enough time,

To loose the reindeer before impact.

Only microseconds to eject,

Before being charred by the jetpack.

Everyone, free of injury,

Was a wonderful Christmas grace.

Lord knows what I’ve sustained,

From rooftop falls to a sealed fireplace.

Still, my ride was busted,

Wires melted and thrusters wrecked.

How could I get it back to base?

Rubble was good for no one but rubbernecks.

My insurance broker was out of office,

The app down for claims.

So I wiped all the computer drives,

Before scuttling the sleigh.

The Lyft bill was quite hefty,

The narwhal ride expectantly wet.

At least the Polar Express was smooth,

I set the autopilot and slept.

Easy enough when you're dead tired,

And the sun doesn’t rise high.

Between September and late March,

Only northern lights illuminate the sky.

When I arrived at the NP,

Elves were already in the boozy cocoa.

Not needing to winterize the sleigh,

Meant a quicker path to getting Fireball loco.

Rudolph worried the Mrs.,

She exclaimed, “Are you okay?”

“We can write it off on taxes,” I replied,

“Or Musk will have to pay.”

I threw off my belt and coat,

And kicked off the big red boots.

Dismissed the staff, made a pass,

And had jolly, cheerful rendezvous.

“I apologize for my Nick’s rudeness.”

“It gets him so randy.”

“What the frigid night air?” asked Frosty.

“No, the cookies and candy.”

While the Mrs. tossed the stale ones,

And sent FedEx thank-yous to the kids,

I checked the sports spreads,

And placed my over/under bets and bids.

I relayed the competitive intel,

To my elves in the toy department.

It surprised them to hear drones were out,

And augmented/VR was in every apartment.

We finished our work reports,

And hurried outdoors.

To compete in the Christmas tree toss,

And skirmish in epic snowball wars.

At the annual festive feast,

They jeered during my appreciation speech.

“Keep it short and sweet, Nick!”

“No one likes to hear you preach!”

I started reflecting on this year’s successes,

Our challenges and wins.

Made some jokes about global politics,

Which rallied big laughs and grins.

What seemed to be most popular, though,

Were my New Year’s resolutions.

Actually, I think it was my promise,

For bigger bonus contributions.

I finished with my crowd-pleaser,

Declared and dropped the mic.

“Merry Christmas to all!” I exclaimed.

“And to all a Good Night!”

Attribution:

Picture generated with the help of OpenArt.