James wakes up, but he has little idea where he is. All he knows is that the floor is white and the ceilings are whiter. He picks up the paper from beside his bed, to see what the date is, 21/6/2009; he swings around only to strike his broken arm on his bedside cabinet. He calls for a nurse as he assumes he’s in a hospital, but no one comes. James evaluates his life, or the lack of it. He dreams of being home with his wife, but then realises that she’s not by his bedside, he dreams of watching Tottenham play, then realises Joe his best friend isn’t there either. He necks the water by his bed and screams “Nurse” one more time, but yet again no one appears.
“Sod this” he says, “I’m going back to sleep.”
I broke my arm in may 2005, whilst playing football with some mates at school. Everyone thought that I was faking it, (something which I do a lot during the average game, I like the attention.) When I came home decided to show my parents how much my arm hurt, and it had ballooned in size, so was only one place to go and that was the hospital, a couple of hours waiting later.
"James you've fractured your arm."
Happy days.
