Temperature Rising
Rudder lay on the trainer’s table writhing in agony. His throwing arm was swollen to bulbous proportions. A nasty, blistering rash spread from his wrist to his shoulder. His body convulsed with chills, a fever of 105°.
“Have you been self-treating again?” the team doctor asked.
“Just some analgesic balm. The big game’s on Sunday and my arm’s killing me. I need to be ready.”
“How much balm?”
“Four tubes.”
“What! The body can’t absorb that much!”
“Will I be okay by kickoff?”
“There’s no way you’re playing!” the doctor said. “You’ve got a severe case of Ben Gay Fever!”
From Guest Contributor Lee Hammerschmidt
Lee is a Visual Artist/Writer/Troubadour who lives in Oregon. He is the author of the short story collections, A Hole Of My Own and It’s Noir O’clock Somewhere. Check out his hit parade on YouTube!
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.