Ethelbert's Sunday Afternoon
ETHELBERT'S SUNDAY AFTERNOON: A SHORT STORY COLLECTION
COPYRIGHT MARCUS FREESTONE 2013
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ETHELBERT'S SUNDAY MORNING
I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT ART BUT I KNOW WHAT I LIKE
MICHAEL AND THE BOSS
WHAT'S THAT SMELL?
INTO THE CAVE
TOO MANY COOKS SPOIL THE GRAVY
SPYING THREE YEARS ON
This is a strange dream. I'm lying in a cat scanner surrounded by beeping noises. Despite working in a hospital for
twelve years I've never had a medical dream before.
Oh, I think I'm waking up.
What's happened to the scanner, where's the ceiling going?
Where the hell did this train come from?
Someone switch off that fucking dalek.
Oh brilliant, now I'm having a heart attack as well.
No, what's that on my chest? Oh, it's my phone. How do you open this bloody thing? What does this button do?
Stop beeping you bloody... bleeping bastard.
Hello? Come on, Keith!
Who said that?
Put the phone to your mouth, Keith.
Who are you? What are you doing in my bedroom?
You're on a train, Keith.
Aren't I supposed to say that?
Get it together, Keith, I know she didn't leave you any money but you've got to sort yourself out. You can't
spend every Saturday night in a railway sidings. We need you here now.
Where are you?
I'm at the hospital, where you should have been hours ago. Obviously you can't administer the anesthetic but
you're the only person in a forty mile radius who knows how to turn the machine on.
What's that noise, it sounds like an exploding bee?
That was me telling you the patients name, the forty seven year old Polish woman who'll probably die if you
don't get here soon.
She had loads of money, a few grand isn't much to expect. Not even mentioning my name in the will. Ungrateful