Just a little fiction to wet your palette. This is a short piece I wrote this week based on a prompt from The Write Practice. It’s a bit random, but was fun to write.
The Bionic Neurosurgeon
The snowboard landed a few feet from Weston in a mound of thick powdery snow. For a matter of minutes he lay unconscious sinking slightly under the weight of his own body. He had allowed his inner-daredevil to take charge when he made the decision to scale his way up to the expert course despite the warning of his insurance agent, Miguel.
When Weston awoke face-down in the snow he used his neck to pry himself from his present circumstance. Glancing at the imprint of his facial structure he smiled at its resemblance to the shape of his notorious iguana, Reptar. Weston keeps Reptar in a cage in his waiting room which he uses as a mechanism to lighten the mood at his private practice. Reptar is known throughout the town for his unusually long tongue and his ability to freak out all of the skittish women who work in the office like Eugenie, the surgeon.
“Doctor Eastmoor!” Weston heard his name reverberating off the mounds of surrounding snow. Eugenie and a couple of nurses came running urgently to his aid. It had been Weston’s idea to take the employees of his practice on the grand snowboarding adventure as their annual trip even though Eugenie had seriously questioned his motive.
“Doctor Eastmoor, it’s only been a few months since your bionic elbow was attached. You need it to heal properly before returning to the snow.” Eugenie had cautioned. She had been the one to perform the surgery which allowed Weston to keep his entire arm. Frostbite had nearly stolen his arm, hobby, and professional abilities last winter. At the time Eugenie had told him he would likely never snowboard again let alone perform another neurosurgery. But one month after attaching his bionic elbow he was cleared to return to his practice.When he had suggested the annual trip to the Snow Club he was met by critique from Eugenie, who seemed to be constantly reminding him of his new limitations.
“Can’t you find a safer hobby, Doctor Eastmoor?” Eugenie began. “Can’t you start a collection? I quite enjoy my antique microwave collection. It’s a lot of fun to invest in something you love. No danger there.”
So even though it was ill-advised, Weston book a cabin for the weekend and brought along his staff more for his own insurance than for a need for companionship. He was bound to not allow himself to give up his passion because of the new bionic addition.
As Eugenie approached Weston laying in the snow he saw, “I told you we shouldn’t have come here…” written all over her face. Before she could utter a word, however, he stood to his feet, checked that all extremities were intact, and then spoke irritably, “Don’t say a word, Eugenie. I’m fine.”