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Join Date: Feb 2005
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Frossty Thoughts - Quintuplets
[disc:236021953c]The main character, Harold, is rude, offensive, and generally dislikable. He swears, and there's a fair bit of mysogeny in him. Read at your own risk.[/disc:236021953c]
For those not worried about the possible content, this was written in about a weekend, on a sort of challenge to use certain words in a story. I've edited it a little since then, but most of the challenge words remain.
FYI, they are: quintuplets, decadence, infarction, and litigious.
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“Quintuplets!” exclaimed Harold to the night nurse behind the bright white counter. “How is that possible?”
Harold was a reedy, balding man, with bad teeth, skin pockmarked with acne, thick glasses and breath that could rust through an inch of steel.
“Mr. Denward, I have no idea how you managed quintuplets. But that’s what happened.” The night nurse, one Clara Delbond, could scarcely imagine anyone wishing to spend more than a few moments in a room alone with Harold – even then it would only be to say things like: “We know it was you," and, "Where did you hide the body?”
“Quintuplets,” he muttered again, more to himself than anyone else. He mulled the idea in his mind, sucking loudly on his blackened teeth and making Clara increasingly squeamish with each passing second. It didn’t help that so far he had spoken to her breasts rather than her face, and was currently quite engrossed in undressing her with his eyes.
She managed a cheerful smile, despite her rising need to be somewhere else right away. The idea that someone would be willing to allow herself to be even partly naked in his presence, much less consent to have sex with him, disgusted her thoroughly. Though she was comfortably dressed in sensible, practical clothes covered with a hygienic smock, his leering stare made her feel underdressed around him. She was glad they were separated by a few feet of countertop.
“Well,” he said finally, running his hands through the greasy remnants of his hair, “can I see her? Err… them?”
“They’re up in maternity, Ward 6.” Clara gave him the directions to Ward 6, and was all too glad for he was moving away from her. She hoped her shift ended before he came back this way.
***
Harold trudged towards Ward 6, scowling and grumbling. How’d that bitch get pregnant without anyone noticing? Quints! Impossible. We’d have known. Damn, all this time I just thought she was just getting fat.
Ward 6 was brightly painted in a garish collection of pastel colours in a haphazard arrangement of wide stripes, circles and other shapes along the walls and ceiling. It looked as if the hospital had asked a young designer to be bold and innovative, and then given the job of painting to a group of High School volunteers. Harold instantly hated it. He felt like it was a visual attack on him personally.
Sally’s room was small, and furnished in the hospital standard plastic and steel: Impersonal, uncomfortable, and functional. Five cradles surrounded Sally’s bed, each containing a small sleeping little person. A doctor and two nurses attended her.
Sally was hooked up to a number of machines and IV drips. She looked smaller – considerably so around the waist. Aside from the tubes and needles, she looked almost like she had when he first met her. He felt a momentary flash of attraction, mixed with a few stray thoughts of playing “doctor” with her. They dissipated quickly when he remembered that she had just given birth to the five currently sleeping babies around her.
“Are you the father?” asked the doctor, interrupting Harold’s thoughts.
“Er, yeah, I guess so,” said Harold.
“Multiple births are always difficult. In this case; especially so. Your wife suffered an infarction of the uterus during childbirth. The damage was quite severe. She hemorrhaged, and there was nothing we could do. She won’t be able to have more children, but you’ve got five healthy, happy babies.”
Harold opened his mouth to say something, but one of the nurses piped up before he had managed a sound. “They’re all so cute!” Her tone was cheery and bright, like she’d been practicing for an audition as a kid’s show extra. The thought of her on the “audition couch” amused him momentarily then passed.
“Yeah, cute,” Harold grunted. “Look, doc, can I have a word with you?” Harold led the doctor out of the room and shut the door behind him. “The old lady’s been bugging me about kids since we got married. I don’t want any.”
“Sir, it’s a little late to be making those sorts of decisions.”
Harold frowned angrily at the doctor. “You’re not lettin’ me finish. I’ve never wanted kids. I’d had a pregnancy scare with this girl in highschool, and knew right away I’d never make a good father for anybody. Look at me. I can barely keep myself together. So, when I was 18, I had the snip done.” He made a scissor gesture near his crotch to emphasize his point. “Ain’t no way any of those five brats are mine.”
“Ah,” replied the doctor, his voice utterly without emotion or surprise.
“What I need you to do is a paternity test on ‘em. Find out who’s kids those are, so I can divorce that cheatin’ whore.” Harold nearly spat on the floor, considered where he was, paused a moment, then spat anyway. The doctor’s fakest, most polite smiled bolted itself firmly into place.
“We can do a DNA test, but that won’t tell us who the father is.”
“It’ll tell you who the father’s NOT!” said Harold, his voice growing loud. “An if you don’t do one – I’m gonna sue.”
“There’s no need to get litigious,” said the doctor, trying to placate Harold. The Ward nurse leaned over her counter to see what was causing the commotion. “We’ll run a DNA test on the mother and the babies. We’ll need a blood sample from you as well – to confirm you’re not the father.”
“Fine, just let me know when you need it. I’ll, uh… need a few days to… ah… clear the system, if you know what I mean.”
The doctor’s smile managed to become even more rigid and forced. “That won’t be necessary. We won’t subject it to any drug testing. We just need the DNA.”
“In that case, I’m good right now. Let’s get this done so I can get outta here.”
“I’ll arrange things with the Ward nurse – and I’ll let her know of your, shall we say, ‘taste for decadence.’ I’ll make sure she doesn’t send it for drug screening.”
Harold smiled, his crooked teeth reminding the doctor of the absolute importance of regular dentist visits.
Harold scratched and adjusted himself inappropriately. “Thanks doc, I appreciate it. I’m gonna go pay a visit to the baby factory before I go. Maybe see if I can get one of those nurses to play ‘naughty nurse’ with me.” He gave the doctor a wicked smirk. The doctor forced a chuckle at Harold’s comment before excusing himself to inform the ward nurse that she should call the janitor to mop the floor.
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Damien
In my world, there are no heroes, only really polite villians.
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