{"id":2527,"date":"2014-05-06T03:16:51","date_gmt":"2014-05-06T03:16:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/?p=2527"},"modified":"2014-05-06T03:25:35","modified_gmt":"2014-05-06T03:25:35","slug":"sight-m-e-syler","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.everywritersresource.com\/shortstories\/sight-m-e-syler\/","title":{"rendered":"Out of Sight by M.E.Syler"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"stars3\"<\/a><\/h1>\n

Out of Sight<\/h1>\n

by M.E.Syler<\/p>\n

My thoughts are confused, the world is pitch-black, voices from another room are an incoherent chatter.<\/p>\n

I pinch my arm. Why can’t I wake up from this nightmare?<\/p>\n

I slap my face, my heartbeat quickens, a loud squeak; the hinge pins that needed oiling.<\/p>\n

“Mr. Wells,” a melodious female voice, “Why did you hit yourself?” In my mind’s eye, she is beautiful and seductive, but who is she?<\/p>\n

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”<\/p>\n

“No Hon,” her laugh is rhythmic, “I’m your nurse, Maggi.”<\/p>\n

“This is not a hospital, this is my bedroom, and why do I need a nurse?”<\/p>\n

“You hired me after the accident.” Maggi said.<\/p>\n

“I don’t remember an accident, and I can’t see,” shouting, “yesterday my sight was perfect. I remember taking the Porsche out for a drive with the top down.”<\/p>\n

“That was ten years ago.” She said.<\/p>\n

“That’s not possible\u2026 why do I smell vinegar?”<\/p>\n

“It’s your medicine.”<\/p>\n

“I need a shot of whiskey.” He shouts.<\/p>\n

“The medicine will calm your nerves, Mr. Wells.”<\/p>\n

She placed the cup in my hand and, reluctantly, I drank.<\/p>\n

I would remember an accident, losing my sight, and hiring a nurse, unless my mind has left me.<\/p>\n

Could this be God’s curse for an unscrupulous life of womanizing, drunkenness, and unethical business practices?<\/p>\n

Stop wallowing in self-pity and form a plan. If Tom was here he would make sense of this dilemma. Pity, dad’s favorite son is dead and Me, the oldest, still alive. The one who squanders the family fortune.<\/p>\n

There are voices again, two people downstairs. I sit up, dizzy, and put feet to the floor. My stomach is tied in knots. Frustration rises as I pivot my body, clutch the mattress, and shuffle along till my other hand finds the wall. I take a slow deep breath; getting out of bed use to be a simple task.<\/p>\n

Panic creeps in, I can’t remember where the door is. I’ve always had trouble with direction. In this pitch-black-state I’m lost. How can I not remember where the dam door is?<\/p>\n

I slump to the floor, and crawl away from the wall. After a few feet I stop to rest. My ear lies against the wood, the voices are clearer. Maggi and a man in the living room.<\/p>\n

“How’s the old coot, Mag?”<\/p>\n

“The same, he can’t see, and believes he’s in a dream.”<\/p>\n

“Good, soon his bank accounts will be drained.”<\/p>\n

“Dam those two,” Marston thought. He heard their wicked laughter, but it stopped when the doorbell chimed.<\/p>\n

“See who’s at the door, Mag.”<\/p>\n

“Who are you?” Another man’s voice.<\/p>\n

“I’m Mr. Wells’ nurse.” Maggi said.<\/p>\n

“You’re not dressed like a nurse. Nurse’s wear uniforms, not jeans and halter tops. I demand to know what you’re doing in this house.”<\/p>\n

“Just you stay right there,” Maggi said, “You can’t push past me until…”<\/p>\n

“I’m Tom Wells, Marston’s brother.<\/p>\n

Marston rolled over on his back, “My brother is back from the grave.”<\/p>\n

###<\/p>\n

M. E. Syler and his wife are retired living in East Tennessee. A graduate of Wright State University M.E. enjoys writing short stories and poetry.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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