Hot Mess
She waddled when she walked. Her left arm hung like a donkey dick. She loved to sit in the tub with lots of bubbles and read those silly magazines from the grocery checkout. Those were all she could mentally comprehend. She probably only looked at the pictures.
She was told not to take baths. She couldn’t lift herself out. No longer had the strength. But damned if she didn’t give it a try or two or fifteen. She’d be embarrassed with every rescue. It didn’t stop her from filling the tub and getting in.
The paramedics knew her by name.
From Guest Contributor Laura Shell
Laura quit her day job to become a full-time writer. She will be published in Calliope, eMerge, WINK, and Literally Stories, and will have an anthology of horror stories published in February. When she isn’t writing or reading short fiction, she watches horror movies with her dog, Groot.
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.