A Moment [SWC]

A Moment​

Based off True Events​

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP



The monitor hanging high overhead alarmed urgently on the team of medical personnel as they swiftly worked around a trauma gurney.

“Ready? Switch!” a tech leaning above a mass on the bed had shouted. He had been beating down in rhythm, but stepped off a stool to be quickly replaced by another coworker who continued performing CPR. Yellow gowns blurred in a perilous twister of doctors, techs, and nurses; the sterile air humidified as blue gloves splotched with crimson worked tirelessly over the center of the commotion. The trauma team at the University of Celadon Medical Center's Emergency Room worked to save a life.

“Call the blood bank, we may need more liters!”

“Airway intact!”


BEEPBEEPBEEP


“I need more four-by-fours!”

“What was the G.C.S.?!”

Medical jargon flew over the head of a man who stood in the double doorway to the trauma bay. Drying sweat from his hands on his faded, green plaid shirt, he watched the commotion evolve. The ephemeral chaos was almost beautiful, like a well choreographed ballet, if only it weren't so tragic.

Sweat glistened off the man's balding head, watering the thin patches of salty gray hair that remained. The room was warmer than he had expected. He tried to focus his thoughts on the uncomfortable heat, but anoesis had anchored itself at the core of his mind; fear, anxiety and perpetual grief had instead forced the man to watch the unfortunate, and unplanned performance. Thus, he adjusted his glasses as a woman in scrubs bumped past him in a hurry to join the fray. Standing pitifully as the scene unfolded, the man waited with sunken face and helpless demeanor.

“I need another Arrow!”

“On it!”

“Sheers, I need sheers!”


BEEPBEEPBEEP


“Is the Chest Tube ready?”

“Ninety-one, six axillary!”

“Ninety-one, six axillary, grab the bear hugger!” the nurse in charge confirmed as he frantically typed up everything on his portable computer.

“Switching blood bag; starting new liter!” another nurse rang out, followed sharply by the confirmation of the charge nurse's echo: “starting new liter”.

“Pulse check!” a doctor commanded by the side of the gurney, “Stop CPR; check for a pulse!”

The room froze. The sudden lack of action from the bed –mostly by the arrest of the techs administering CPR– gave the room a moment of clenched breath. The nurses, techs, and doctors extended a hand and felt vital arteries for any sign of a heart beat.

“Doppler!” the doctor sounded.

“Right here,” a tech on the side had grabbed a metal box and twisted around to give it to the doctor. The doctor turned the machine on with an audible “click” and pressed a connecting nob onto the patient. A nurse had silenced the alarming monitor and the trauma team listened in total silence.


..




…




..




…




..




...




Nothing.


“How long has CPR been administered?” the doctor asked out loud.

“From when paramedics first found her,” the charge nurse responded, “approximately fifty-five minutes ago.”

The team collectively looked up, broken out of their fixated trance to find a pulse, and searched the eyes of the other team members. No one needed to say anything. Cold understanding washed over the entire room; the moments of last salvation: sunk. The man in the doorway could read the answer to his most daunting question in the trauma team's faces.

“Does anyone have any objections?” the doctor asked, knowing any objection or shred of doubt from any person would mean they would have to continue.

The silence heavied.

“Time of death: o-six twenty-nine,” the doctor said, defeated. She took a heavy sigh and turned toward the charge nurse. “I'll notify family, are they here?”

The nurse flipped through a couple papers on the desk portion of the mobile computer as he responded, “Yes. There's a man I believe. A David-

“McKinley,” the man in the doorway said as he sloped forward. “That's... that's me. I'm,” he paused, finding it difficult to form words, “family.”

“I'm sorry Mr. McKinley,” the doctor began delicately. She moved herself and David aside to a more private room to continue, “There are reasons why Human and Pokémon hospitals exist separately from each other. Not having the appropriate resources makes all the difference, and well... I'm sorry, but only one of them made it.”

___________________________________________________________________________​

“Daddy, look I using Bubble!”

A stream of bubbles glisten in the summer sun as a little girl giggled at the sight of them. She picked up her plastic stick and hoop, dunked it forcefully in the soapy water, and blew a half raspberry into the circle creating a plethora of fresh new balls of joy for her to chase and pop.

One of the bubbles breezed too close and spritzed the girl's face upon impact on her wee, button nose. The girl, momentarily dazed, wiped the drizzle off her face with the palms of her small hands, and onto the sides of her pink overalls.

“I'm going to getchya!” a playful voice growled as a man came from behind her and snatched her into the air. She delightfully screamed and giggled as her father ran around the overgrown yard. Bubbles popped and sprayed the sultry air, refracting a rainbow that faded into the cicada humming pines.

“Daddy, daddy!” the girl chortled as her father whizzed her through the air. “Daddy, you be my trainer and I'll use Bubble!”

The man set her back down on the sunbathed pavement. “Okay then,” he agreed, straightening up his new, plaid green shirt as he commanded, “Go, Lizzy, use Bubble!”

“No Daddy,” Lizzy huffed, “I'm a Horsea!”

“Oh, okay,” her father conformed to her imagination, “Go, Horsea! Use Bubble attack!”

Lizzy swirled her plastic hoop in the soapy water again and blew with gusto. She giggled with glee as the bubbles danced in the summer air. Her father paused to take a moment... The sun gleamed, the air misted, his daughter laughed; it was a moment of pure rapture and his heart swelled with happiness.

___________________________________________________________________________​

“Come on guys, this way,” Beth said as she hurried four other preteen girls through the main hallway of the house.

“Hey, Lizzy,” her father called from his chair in the living room, just barely visible around the corner to the group. Beth froze. She had hoped on getting her friends downstairs to the basement without her father seeing them. He had a knack for being a bit dopey and embarrassing.

“Dad,” Beth strained, “it's 'Beth', not 'Lizzy'.” Her friends had snickered at him calling her “Lizzy”.

“Okay, whatever you say, Beth,” her father replied, “So what's up, buttercup?”

Beth's friends choked on their own stifled giggles as her father motioned his eyebrows in question at them. Beth heaved a sigh and responded,

“We're going downstairs to hang out and then maybe go to the zoo if Alison's mom gets off early. They have season passes.”

“Oh! Well that sounds like fun, hun. I bet you'd like to see the Horseas. You've always liked the Horseas-”

“Dad!” Beth pleaded through clenched teeth as her friends seemed to build with pressure even more. She mouthed a voiceless “oh my God” and ran down the stairs to the basement after a rushed “okay-later-dad”.

Her father resumed the book he had been reading before Beth arrived with her friends. But he couldn't shake the feeling, that even though he felt like he was parenting correctly -as parents embarrass their kids in front of their friends often- he also felt remiss in that the relationship between himself and his daughter could be better.

Later that evening he confided his thoughts with his wife. He told her he wasn't sure if this was how it was suppose to be, but she assured him nonetheless.

“Children just do this,” she said, “they grow away from their parents. It's fine.”

“But I see other daughters get along great with their dads! Why can't that be Elizabeth and I?”

“David, honey, not every daughter-father relationship can be like that. They rarely are, to tell you the truth. Think: how did your father get along with you or your sisters?”

“Well that's different, Mary,” David responded, “my father was a drunk and died when I was 17. What about your father, your relationship was probably better than you trying to avoid him constantly?”

“You're right, I didn't try to avoid him, or dare talk back to him. Times were different back then. He would've beaten us if we had spoken out against him. He was also a bit of a racist and he left my mother the day I turned 18.”

David didn't look any more cheer and Mary knew the conversation was more disheartening than not. She took his hand and gave him a smile. David glanced at their hands, then up at her bright face. He had not truly noticed, but there were so many similarities between her and their daughter: button nose, wide cheeks, soft eyes. He reflected her smile as she continued,

“You know. I'd say you're already doing better than both our dads. You're not a racist nor a drunk. And I better not catch you even thinking of leaving me any time soon!” she jabbed at him.

"You better not leave me anytime soon either," David chuckled. “But, you're right,” he soon conceded, “but I just wish her and I could get along better. That we could be friends, or she not be so embarrassed by me.”

“Life's unfair,” Mary responded, “but we'll make do.”

___________________________________________________________________________​

Time continued to pass. Beth grew tall in her mid teens and was accompanied by all the awkward angst that comes with the new changes which, opposite to David wishes, tensed up their relationship. She was beginning to push the limits of what was and was not acceptable and her parents had little idea on how to control such a teenager.

One night, after a large argument between Beth and David, David vented to his equally irritated wife.

“I just don't understand, David,” she began, “how the hell does this happen! The police were called because our neighbors thought there was domestic violence!”

“She's been way too disrespectful and not even listening to a word I say!” David began to explain, “I told her this morning to wash the dishes and take out the trash that's up to its rim, but when I come home today the dishes are still dirty and there's even more trash piled on than before!”

“So you yell at her?”

“Yes Mary, I just started yelling at her,” David replied with heated sarcasm, “I found her in her room talking to her friends on her cell phone. I told her to drop the phone and do her chores, which she rudely told me off!”

“So you lunged at her?!” Mary cried.

“I'm not an animal, Mary!” David contrasted to her chastising comment, “I reached to take her phone away. If she cannot do simple tasks that I ask her to do and then tell me to 'f off', then I think I hold the right to take the phone that I provide her with away from her.

“She started screaming and yelling and began to hit me saying I was impeding on her rights, that I was a terrible father, that I'm so mean because I asked her to do simple chores and now I'm abusive because I took her phone from her.”

“And you called her a spoiled brat,” Mary added.

“Because she is a spoiled brat!” David responded. He took a heavy sigh and shook his head. “I don't know where we went wrong Mary. I know you've said this is more normal, that teenagers just act like this, but this just seems too much. I still see daughters and fathers getting along so much better than we do... I just don't know what I could've done better.”

“Well,” Mary began calmly, finally sitting down next to David to comfort him, “maybe next time, just cut off her line from the phone company and not forcibly take it out of her hands.”

David looked down for a moment; escaping the pain and present anguish to daydream of nostalgia. “You know,” he said fondly, “I know I'm no good with teenagers, Beth proves that. But I am good with kids. I sure wish I could go back and have my Lizzy again.”

Mary patted David's shoulder in consolation as he continued to daydream of the past: hot summer days, playing outside, giggles and bubbles...

___________________________________________________________________________​

A party was being held at the house where a large group of Beth's friends came to celebrate. David stayed outside most of the early part of the celebration grilling for the rest of the teens as they congregated, took selfies, and gossiped with each other. Some of the teenagers spilled out onto the deck where David was grilling.

“Oh my God, Beth, I'm so excited for you. On my 16th, my dad got me my Growlithe,” one of the girls said.

“Mine got me a Glameow,” a boy next to the girl boasted, “but we trained super hard after, so by the time I went back to school it was a braised Purugly.”

“I sure wish my parents would've gotten me a Pokémon for my 16th birthday,” Beth said loudly to include her father into the conversation.

David turned from the grill with a smile and replied, “Oh, I'm sure they did, kiddo.” He followed it up with a wink as Beth gasped.

“Wait, really?”

“Yes really,” David continued, smiling as he saw Beth's surprised delight.

“Oh, thank you daddy!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around him tightly. It was the first time in a few years she had giving him a hug without being hesitant nor acting repulsed by expressing care for him. This hug was all David had wanted in the past few years, and now he was certain that the few thousand dollars spent on her new Pokémon was worth every cent.

“Okay, Beth, go inside and wait by the fireplace for your gifts. I'll finish up these last few burgers and then you can get started,” David said. Beth pulled away and ran inside with her friends tagging along close behind.

The meat sizzled on the grill, but David was watching a visibly excited Beth through the glass, patio doors; he took a moment... The air warmed, Beth was glowing with joy, and the burgers were burning– the burgers were burning?!

“Oh, shoot!” David exclaimed as he turned off the gas to the grill and scooped up the charred meat patties. He hurried inside and placed the burnt pieces with the other hamburgers, walked passed Mary in the living room, and grabbed a few dazzlingly wrapped boxes.

Beth sat on the center ledge of the fireplace where all her family and friends could see her. David began giving Beth her gifts one by one; she opened them with increasing excitement: new shirts, gift cards, make-up, a new book, and finally a small box with a bow.

She took off the top of the box and there inside was a little red and white PokéBall. Beth kept eyeing up at her friends with palpable joy as she palmed the ball and pushed it center button. She closed her eyes and mouthed, “Alolan-Meowth, Alolan-Meowth, Alolan...” slowly getting more and more audible as the Pokémon inside materialized in front of her. Beth opened her eyes.

A small, turquoise seahorse Pokémon, with three spines on each cheek and a single fin on its back balanced itself on its curled tail and squealed, “Horsea!”

Her friends and family exclaimed in whispers around her, but Beth looked straight up at her dad and said, “Wow,” straight-faced and monotone, “a Horsea.” She set the Horsea aside and began to chat with her friends who were sitting closest. David felt flushed and embarrassed, as if he had done something wrong, but had no clue as to what.

Throughout the night, the Horsea sat right next to Beth, nudging her and calling out to get her attention. Beth, however, paid it no mind, not even a glance, and ignored it to talk to her friends until they all left.

“Dad! What the hell?” Beth screamed as the last guest closed the front door.

“Language, young lady!” David said in shock. Beth ignored his comment and continued to rage.

“A Horsea, dad? A Horsea. What am I suppose to do with that? How am I suppose to hang out with my friends, go on walks with them, or hang out at school if I have to be swimming?!”

“You don't have to be swimming, Beth,” David responded, flabbergasted at her response, “and I don't know, you're her trainer-”

“I don't want to be its trainer!” Beth cut in, “Why would you get me this!? Why not, I don't know, say something practical or good even, like an Alolan-Meowth?”

“I thought you liked Horseas! You always wanted a Horsea... at least you did when you were little. How am I suppose to know your likes changed so dramatically?” David asked, still in a shock over Beth's response.

“You could maybe ask?!” Beth snarked, “I'm not five years old any more, dad! No matter how much you wish I was!” And with that, Beth stormed up to her bedroom, leaving a swirling pit in David's stomach, a shocked mother, and a heavily disappointed and downtrodden Horsea.

Mary went over and picked up the little blue creature and asked, “Would you like to stay with David and I for the evening?” The Horsea shook off an hanging tear, looked up at Mary, and nodded. Mary embraced the Pokémon gently, and carried it upstairs to her and David's bedroom.

That night the wee Horsea nestled between Mary and David, looking back and forth at the couple with its wide eyes to follow their conversation.

“She's only a few months old,” David explained, “I got her from a breeder. I'd feel terrible taking her back, but Beth seems to hate her apparently.” He looked down at the Horsea, scratched its belly with a single finger, and smiled as the Horsea cooed.

“You know,” Mary began to propose as she watched the two bond, “we could just keep her. Beth may come around eventually, but for now she can be ours.”

“Really?” David asked. “You'd like to keep her?”

“Well sure,” Mary said, scooping the seahorse Pokémon into her arms and cuddling with her in their cozy blankets. “She's a sweet pea. And I quite like her. Never had a Pokémon when I was a little girl, but if I could've had one, I would've wanted one like this.” The Horsea nestled in Mary's arms.

“She is a sweet pea,” David said just as Horsea started to yawn. “Aw, a sweepy sweet pea,” he added in baby-talk, making Mary softly chuckle.

“I think that should be her name,” Mary hushed as the Horsea succumbed to slumber, “Sweet Pea.”

___________________________________________________________________________​

The front door slammed. Beth came home from school, ready to demand Sweet Pea from her dad; her bitterness of not having a Pokémon and her jealousy of how Sweet Pea was adjusting to life with her parents had boiled over. She was willing to take Sweet Pea out of spite and learn to like the seahorse Pokémon rather than pout and remain angry.

But as she spun around the corner, Beth saw her mother rocking in the living room chair waiting for her. This struck Beth as odd as Mary was suppose to be at work; she never missed a day. But there she was, serious demeanor, waiting in silence with Sweet Pea in her lap for Beth to arrive.

“Mom, what are you doing home?” Beth asked, breaking the soundless void.

“Elizabeth, sit down,” Mary began, right as David walked into the room; pale skin, eyes swollen, and nose red. Mary caressed Sweet Pea who was aware of the heavy situation, but sitting still in attentiveness. Beth put her books down and sat on the ledge of the fireplace as Mary continued, “I've been to the doctors these passed couple weeks. They thought they found something in a mammogram I had done. We didn't want to tell you anything in case it was nothing-”

“And it is nothing, right?” Beth interjected. Mary became still, one hand on Sweet Pea's head in mid-pet.

“I have cancer, Elizabeth,” Mary said. Beth's whole being sank inside herself. The world suddenly became a stranger to her. She looked up helplessly at her dad, but David was too fixated on the floor in distant thought to notice Beth's plea. She turned back over to her mother, only now realizing how stoically she sat.

Beth tried to think of what to do, but only one question raced through her mind. She tried to form the words, but found her throat had locked up. Mary, however, saved Beth from asking as she stated, “Not long... Life's unfair, but we'll make do.”

___________________________________________________________________________​

Spring following a rough winter was always a calm welcome. David stood in the kitchen by the window facing the backyard. The warming gardens and chirping robins would've been a delight, as David fixed his tie, if it hadn't been under such circumstances. Beth waited by the front door, keys in hand, black on garb. David finished, picked up Sweet Pea, and began for the door.

“You're going to bring her?” Beth asked.

“Your mother loved her,” David responded, “she would've wanted her to be there.” He brought Sweet Pea up close to Beth as they were headed out the door. Beth, instead of turning and leaving, decided to pet Sweet Pea.

“You know, I've grown fond of her these past few months,” Beth said as tears welled in her eyes. “They may have been stressful and I probably cried more than I have my entire life, but they were the best.”

David put a hand on Beth's shoulder and held up Sweet Pea in an offer for Beth to hold her. Beth took the Horsea, wiped her cheeks of her tears as she continued, “I feel so bad; I'm so sorry.”

“For what?” David asked, astonished.

“All the times I acted so horribly. How inconsiderate I was, how terrible of a daugh– ” Beth couldn't finish the sentence as she choked up too hard.

David put her in a full embrace, hushing her as he said, “No, Beth, it's okay. You were– are, you are a good daughter. You went through a rebellious, angst filled teenager phase as we all do. And we were not perfect parents either. I know I sure wasn't. We've made our fair share of mistakes, but that doesn't mean we're terrible people. We just do our best.”

David took Beth by the shoulders and peered into her watery eyes. He kept forgetting how much Beth and her mother looked so much alike: that button nose, those wide cheeks, her soft eyes...

“Let's get going, sweetheart,” David said.

“Can I–,” Beth hiccupped, “can I hold Sweet Pea during the service?”

“Of course,” David replied. “Now come on, let's go,” he added as he opened the door.

___________________________________________________________________________​

“Good morning, Beth,” David muffled into his coffee. He sat in the kitchen in a robe as Beth walked in with a barely awake Sweet Pea. “How'd the Sweets sleep?” he asked.

“She slept well,” Beth yawned, “just getting up to get an early morning swim in. Sweet Pea really loves doing this.”

“Well, I think she namely likes it because you're doing it with her,” David said, taking a nod to the Horsea as he continued, “she's a kind soul; reason we called her Sweet Pea.”

Beth smiled down at the little seahorse Pokémon she was cradling. But she started at the moment she remembered something to ask, “Oh, sorry dad, is it okay for me to take Sweet Pea swimming this morning? I should've ask last night, I just assumed-”

“Elizabeth,” David smiled, “you don't have to keep asking. She is yours after all.”

Beth took in a breath and held her lips close to keep herself from sobbing. “Thank you daddy,” she huffed out; her lips failing her, beginning to buckle and to quiver as her eyebrows tightened and she began to sniff.

“Beth, what's wrong?” David asked.

“I- I-” Beth attempted to squeeze words out of the lump swelling in her throat, “I just miss her so much, daddy. Sweet Pea reminds me so much of her.”

“I miss her too,” David comforted. But before he could get up and hug his daughter, Beth stifled her running nose and cleared her throat.

“It's just, a bit silly of me I guess. Still crying after these couple years since she's passed,” Beth huffed at herself.

“You know,” David began to say, “you never truly stop grieving over someone like your mother.”

“Thanks, dad,” Beth smiled as she gathered her gym bag and started to leave. David was unsure if it was the conversation on in his mind, or if it was just strong genes coming out in Beth, but for a moment, he could've sworn he was looking at Mary.

“Wait,” David said.

“What?” Beth asked.

“I just want to... I just want to take a moment,” David said. He studied Beth for a moment in remembrance of Mary. But soon felt as if that were wrong. Mary, as wonderful a wife and mother, had passed, but standing in front of David was his daughter

Thus, David took in a moment... The morning sun breaking, the air steamed with coffee, and his daughter, the fruit of the love between he and Mary, held the Horsea she always wanted; the one she pretended to be, the one she pretended to hate, the one that Mary adored. This moment was gold and nothing less.

“Have a good swim, hun,” David said, finishing his fill.

Beth smiled, waved a goodbye, and left for the day.

David finished his coffee and went upstairs to shower and get dressed. When he was picking out his clothes, however, he couldn't shake the want to wear his old, green plaid shirt. Something made him reminisce the shirt, so he put it on and buttoned it up.

No less than an hour later David's cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hello is this Mr. McKinley?” a soft spoken voice on the other end of the phone asked. What sounded like sirens and alarms beeping in the background made him focus.

“Yes,” David replied, “yes, this is he.”

“Hi, Mr. McKinley, I'm Viola Waters, a patient-relations representative at the University of Celadon Medical Center. You might want to be seated for this,” she began saying words he had only imagined he'd hear in the movies, or an action/drama series on T.V.

Viola paused momentarily and then continued, “Your daughter, Elizabeth, has been in a car accident. A drunk driver hit her while she was driving on the interstate. Paramedics took her and an injured Horsea to the closest trauma center possible as injuries were fairly severe.”

“Where are they?!” David panicked.

“They're here at UCMC, sir,” Viola answered calmly, but before she could say anymore David cut in.

“I'll be there-” and was out the door.

___________________________________________________________________________​

And now, David stood in full sweat, in a private room off the trauma bay, trying to make sense of what Doctor Duszats-something-or-other was saying. His throat was dry, he tried lubricating it, but swallowed air before he coughed out a, “I'm sorry, what?”

“Only one of them made it, Mr. McKinley,” the doctor repeated. “As I was saying, there's a reason they separate Human and Pokémon hospitals, and unfortunately we didn't have the resources necessary to save both.”

David took the bottom part of his plaid shirt and dabbed it on his balding head; it soaked up some of the remaining sweat accumulated from the ordeal. He glanced back up at the doctor bracing himself.

“Your daughter has passed.”

...


The world halted, but somehow the doctor was able to continue speaking, “Her Horsea, though, is stable and only suffered a few lacerations along with a minor concussion. She'll be able to get out of here today.”

David took a breath, his most taken-for-granted breath of his life, and asked, “H– how?”

“The other driver was driving drunk and speeding. He hit the median and went into oncoming traffic.”

“Can I see Sweet Pea?” David asked.

“Is... is that the Horsea?” the doctor queried. David nodded solemnly as the doctor responded, “of course.”

The doctor took David to the half room next to where he witnessed the trauma team working on his daughter only a few moments ago. There in the trauma gurney rested the small turquoise seahorse. Her eyes were closed, and her reddened chest rose and fell gently to the rhythm of her breath.

David stood over the side of the gurney and began to caress the sleeping Horsea. She worked hard to open her eyes, but let out a “S-s-sea-ea-ea,” of relief when she saw it was David.

“Hey there Sweet Pea,” he called out; droplets falling off his cheeks.

Footsteps soon sounded from the half room next to David. He quickly realized there were a few people left in the room where his daughter lay.

“Poor girl,” the first mysterious voice said.

“Yea I know,” the second one rasped, “those drunk drivers man, just the worst. Oh hey can you grab me that unopened chest tube tray?”

“Yea here you go dude,” the first voice replied. “And I know! They cause these horrible accidents, but because they've got so much alcohol in them, when they crash, they just rag doll it out of there, sometimes with barely any scratches! But they kill innocent people like... her."

“I heard from the cops that that guy had to have been going well over 60 mile per hour,” the second voice added, “and that was on the interstate too man! He was zooming it. Hey, what's the code to the storage unit again?”

“Uh, one-sixteen, twenty-three zero,” the first voice answered, “She was just at the wrong place at the wrong time, man. Only if she had left her place a moment sooner she would've maybe seen the guy flip over the median and crash into a ditch behind her or something. Life's unfair...”

The pit in David's stomach reopened during their conversation... he felt the world caving in.

“Hey!” a third voice scolded, now joining the conversation.

“What?” the raspy voice said back.

“The father is just in the other room,” the third voice whispered through clenched teeth.

One of the two people gave a light gasp as the other hushed, “Oh” before they left the trauma bay altogether.

David was now alone with Sweet Pea and the cumbersome want to see his daughter. He bent down, curled Sweet Pea in his arms tenderly, and held her close as he ventured into the other half room.

He pushed back the curtains to see Beth lying on a gurney; bleached blankets draped over her, hair in a fan-like mess, seemingly unconscious. David thought it cliché, but Beth did look like she was sleeping, only except the fact that she wasn't moving and was as pale as the sheets she was resting on.

David, while holding onto Sweet Pea with one hand, brushed hair out of Beth's face with his other. She really was a spitting image of her mother. David wished that in every second that ticked by, he would wake from this vivid nightmare. Instead, he heaved heavy breaths; each inhale held another moment... The florescent lights gleamed, the air spritzed with bleach and formaldehyde, and his daughter...; it was a moment of pure misery and his heart swelled with sadness.

David pulled up a chair next to the gurney, sat Sweet Pea in his lap, and began to sob. He felt like it was his fault, he had held up Beth for just a moment, a moment that could've meant the difference between her swimming in a pool right now and her laying in the trauma bay. A darkness twisted inside him, a guilt that seemed over encompassing, like David knew it would overtake him at some point...

"Life is full of moments," a familiar voice said. David stopped mid-sob, completely sure of who the voice was, and looked up. A woman in a white coat stood over the gurney on the other side.

"Mary?" David thought in awe. He wiped his eyes to unblur his vision, quickly attempted to rid his glasses of smudges, and threw them back on to focus on the figure: it was the trauma doctor.

"We try to make reason on why things happen sometime. Why is life unfair? What justice is this? Why does stuff like this happen?" the doctor continued, looking down at Beth's soft face. "Every moment is more random and nonsensical than we'd like them to be. Sometimes they play out exactly how we want, and those few times trick us into believing we can cause an outcome of an event if we try hard enough. But time and again, life will prove that it will be as random and unpredictable as it can be.

"So, we take in every good moment we can. Enjoy the times when life is wondrous, when it fills us with joy, even when they seem monotonous or unconventional: a normal summer day, the first day back to school, the welcoming of an unexpected pet, a regular morning. We take these moments for what they are: life at it's best."

David's sniffs were the only sounds for a few seconds before he said, "Thank you, doctor... uh,"

"Doctor Duszasky," the doctor replied, and she turned to leave the room.

David continued to sit by Beth, Sweet Pea in his lap, and contemplated what Dr. Duszasky had said. He held the still sobbing Sweet Pea close with one hand and Beth's limp hand with his other. David was about to leave, but decided to stay, just for one more moment






Ready For Grading
Pokémon: Horsea
Rank: Hard
CC recommended: 20k-30k
Actual CC: 31,963

Author's Notes:

Spoiler

As some of you know, I work at an emergency room and trauma center in my city. There are some crazy stories that have come from that place, but I didn't want to specifically focus on one event (as well as HIPAA laws are things I try not to even get close to breaking), so I wanted to write a story that generalizes an experience in a trauma bay.

The family stuff was also inspired from real life family/friend issues, some seen in the trauma bay, others more personal (i.e. a dad who's great with kids and pets but terrible with teenagers).

And also the mother with cancer was based off true events (not my own mother, but a close friend/coworker); however, happy ending in real life, the woman I know diagnosed with breast cancer caught it early enough with a mammogram so that she only needed minor surgery and a bit of radiation therapy and now she's in remission! Hurray! (It's also from her I got the phrase "Life's unfair, but we'll make do".)

And lastly, fun facts!

FF#1: The number code to the storage unit in the trauma bay, 116230 are actually the Pokédex numbers of Horsea and Kingdra respectively (116, 230).

FF#2: The trauma doctor, Dr. Duszasky, is a throw back reference to a story I wrote back in 2013 when I first joined titled A Hero's Heart; another SWC entry too! (Hopefully, though, I've made progress over the years!)

Thanks all for the read! : D

 

hey it's me again claiming

 

A GENERAL NOTE AND STUFF

A lot of this grade ended up having similar spirit to the other grade I wrote, and since both that story and this story were written before that grade, it felt redundant to give you the same topics with slightly different examples. If you want ‘em, I still have them, but I didn’t repost it here.

As such, this grade in particular ends up having a narrow focus instead of the standard description/grammar/plot things, since I think at the core level/under those themes, both stories are similar enough that I couldn’t write two different grades about them.


SOME INTRO AND GENRE STUFF

Your intro reads a lot like the introduction to a medical show: there’s the sounds in the background, the heart monitor, the flatlining. Some of those more visual elements translate really well to this intro: there’s a tight visual focus that slowly pans out to the rest of the scene, and I thought that was really cool.

The audio cues of the heart monitor don’t really come across very well here, I think. We’re hardwired to link that beeping sound with an ER, which is why it works really well in TV dramas, but it doesn’t translate well to writing in this case. The first reason is pretty straightforward: initially the words BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP IN BOLD don’t really convey that until you tell us what it means using regular words… which kind of disrupts the point of that onomatopoeia anyway. And the second reason is a little more representational: the audio cue in a TV drama is part of the action. It’s incessant and constant in everything that the characters do before the inevitable flatline/stability, but it doesn’t (in this case literally) break up the storytelling to get the point across. Here, it reads kind of awkwardly, which is further emphasized when you get to the “she ded” part and it’s just a wall of blank.

Overall, this was a clever mode of introduction, but it needs a little more thought in how you want to integrate these tropes that are more commonly used in a visual/audio setting in written form.


THE FORM OF WRITING ABOUT BAD THINGS AND STUFF

Controversial Ely Statement #1: No one cries about plot.

You don’t tear up at the Wikipedia synopsis of a sad videogame, but you’ll be bawling the whole way through.

So how do we write stories about things that are sad, in a meaningful way that can use to convey the feelings we have inside to other people?

Controversial Ely Statement #2: People cry about people.

Think of a tragedy that you see on the news. You feel bad watching it, you can be in utter shock, you can think lots of things about what it means for the world around you and the future ahead, but the average person isn’t going to feel sad on a personal level by a summary of events. But when they have those weirdly-manipulative, hyper-personal last texts, phone calls, spotlights on the hero who jumped on the grenade—when those people become more than just things that died—that’s when you’re able to get a glimpse of understanding what this tragedy just cut short, how it affected a real human who had real hopes and desires like you. That’s when it becomes real.

Let’s bring this back to how this story is told.

I can see from a narrative perspective why you wouldn’t want to say who died early on, but this isn’t how doctors tell someone that their daughter died. They aren’t here to pause and look at the camera while the dramatic music plays and we open Door #2 to see the surviving contestant… these are supposed to be real, human characters facing something absolutely horrible. The way you’ve structured your story doesn’t make that a priority, though: the dramatic tension here is more important than letting the doctor give David a hair of human decency about losing his kid.

And this takes us back to how you focus on drama rather than anything else. There’s a conscious choice here to skip out on the sections—the moments—that could build the relationships that these characters have. The last few months Beth has with her mom, for example, get whisked away in a cut and instead summarized in a few trite words because the focus of this story isn’t actually about people enjoying the moments that they have with one another, because you choose to skip over the most important moments altogether.

I’m cutting out the “show don’t tell” section from this grade since you already got it in Andromeda’s Pirates, and that grade came after you wrote this, but I’m hoping that the effects of showing instead of telling can at least be underscored here. We’re being told that David and Horsea bond here, and later we’ll be told that they’re bonding again later against Beth’s death, but there’s no emotional impact.

And the true emotional punchline of this story, which would be David coming to terms with savoring a good moment—is rolled away in this one line. It’s a summary, not an event, and everything about this presentation here leads us to this.

WRITING ABOUT BAD THINGS PART TWO: THE SECTION WAS REALLY LONG AND THIS ONE IS MORE ABOUT WORD CHOICE AND STUFF

And a bit more on word choice in the face of writing emotional language:

He studied. This isn’t the action or inaction of a man who just lost everything. This is a late-night college student cramming mechanically for a test. This is a repetition of the phrase “a moment” in the most clinical way possible in order to try to eke a little more out of your dramatic reveal a few paragraphs later.

I think my frustrations with this situation were best summed up in the only description you gave Beth during the introduction part:

No matter what platitudes you put at the end, or how many times you try to subtly drop the word “a moment” until the big finale, the dominant focus of your story isn’t your characters facing the humbling realization that life is finite, and that you have to face the beauty between. It’s about lumps of human having bad things happen to them because bad things are bad. This set up prioritizing the dramatic punchline of which family member David loses over making his family feel like anything more than masses on hospital beds who exist as props for his suffering.

“No one actually cares about the human condition” could also be an interesting direction for this story—and it’s backed up by how the characters are so graceful and inhuman in accepting their deaths around David, and how the trauma team has a callous conversation that has no real narrative purpose except to drive home how unfair this situation is supposed to be.

But I imagine that isn’t what you meant. There are attempts to humanize these characters, to make them say profound things about what life is and isn’t supposed to be, but they don’t really get anywhere. Everything feels shallow; no one feels sorry; they’re all just saying lines about sad things happening with no real character behind them. They study their dead kids who are just lumps of mass on hospital beds. They smile and have pretend fights with cliché sayings and die gracefully and off screen, so that people can talk about how good all the other times were.

Death is bad. Losing people is sad. Living can be good. An effective 30k story needs to have more substance than just that. The difference between your story and real life is that you, the author, can consciously decide what events happen and what don’t. In real life, it’s possible that this happens to someone, and that’s normal and random and sad, but your story needs to have a point. Why do these events happen to these characters? How do they grow because of them? What is the point of putting together this fictional world for David, and then conveying these experiences to us?


SOME SEMANTIC STUFF

I know you work in the ER and are the resident expert on this, but I’m like 95% certain that this is the correct spelling the adjective to describe “a bunch all at once”, and not the medical equipment you’re probably talking about.

And likewise, while capitalization in the Pokémon World is a magical journey, pretty sure “chest tube” doesn’t need to be capitalized here.

OVERALL STUFF

This was still a story. It got a point across, and the point wasn’t complex or world-changing, but you had a coherent string of events and you were trying to use them to get something profound across. This worked in some places and worked a little less in others.

That being said, there was enough here to say Horsea is captured. As you strive for higher ranks and enter competitions and all the cool things you do, though, I would try to keep these things in mind. There’s a lot of good, eye-opening ways to convey narrative grief, and a great story about that can be as pivotal as it is heart-breaking. I encourage you to strive for stories that grapple with themes beyond the basic level as you start going into deeper stuff!