I am taking this year, Six Weeks, Six Senses by Sarah Seckley. Here is my post, please remember that I am learning grammar more and more. If you have any thoughts feel free to share them.
The Assignment was: Touch
Catharine never believed in the power of coffee. She had spent many days drinking water, tea, and other beverages, but never coffee. The bright-orange mug, holding the dark cup of brewing joe sat before her. She could do anything with this cup of coffee.
Once Catharine learned the benefits, the energy, she was prepared for the world. Could tackle anything that might come her way.
So sitting here, at her small coffee table, in her apartment, a tall high-rise overlooking the big city. This was moving mountains. Picking the cup up, she felt the heat radiate through her palms, she lifted it up to her lips, feeling the warm, dark, brew slide down her willing throat.
The gulps could be heard from a mile away, greedy, thirsty for more.
When she finished the cup, she placed it down on the wooden table with a sigh. She stood to her feet, grabbed her black bag and was ready to go.
Catharine’s particular feeling of conquering the world applied to her day. She went about on the spiral outdoor staircase of death. It would be to get from one area to the next, something she climbed often to go towards her work at the hospital. This time, it seemed so different.
There were people bustling, crowding around something, piling down the stairs in a weird and overlooking stance. She tried to make her way through them, the red hair, in a tight ponytail swung with each cascading step. But soon, the roadblock was too much to bear. Unable to control it, she froze, stuck in the endless people lined up, feeling the same way.
Her dark-roasted, bean juice was unable to save her now, or could it? How could she deal with a thirty-six-hour shift, if she wasn’t starting off on the right foot?
“Someone, help, please!” A woman in the crowd shouted.
“A doctor, anyone, please?” She cried out again, and as anger was rising in Catharine, she heard the cries, her medical training running through her brain at all the possibilities that could be happening. She leaned against the railing and gripped it tightly, worried about the germs that the rail carried.
She called out, “I am.” Following the sound of her talking and finally made it to the woman. She knelt below on the small bend in the platform of the stairs. Crouching down and hovering over the older woman laying on her back, her eyes closed silently.
Snapping on the latex gloves. Sterile bags, always kept on hand filled with them as she pressed the gloved fingers to the white of the woman’s skin. Feeling the slight and slow thump of her fingers gave her satisfaction.
With a few delicate touches, she had discovered the premise of the problem. Though her diagnosis was rough with the limited technology.
“She suffered a fall, may have hit her head and got a concussion. Is the ambulance here, yet?” She asked, the tone of professionalism had left her, all her focus was on the older woman before her, the small circular glasses on her nose, still somehow in excellent standing, even though she had suffered something terrible.
When the men carrying a stretcher came for the woman, she stood, removing the latex gloves, the latex smacking against each other as removed from her skin. She was unable to do much but had checked what had happened with her.
Yet, she felt accomplished, happy about the small triumph.
But… she wouldn’t have made it out the door.
If it weren’t for that orange mug, filled with dark roasted brewed coffee.