Syl's Short Stories

Thank youuuu~ C:

Silly Joey, trying to be humorous when he's supposed to be angsting about being broken.

I understand that some chatcaers write themselfs. ^-^

Heh, that actually happened a lot with him. I originally made him as a direct expy of myself, just male (something my friends and I were doing just to be goofy) but over the past couple years, he's really developed into his own thing. XD There are obviously still characteristics we share, but he's definitely become his own character and it sorta happened without my say-so, and he tends to write himself as a result.

Which is just amusing to me in the end.

hahah Ronnie! <3

You can steal her whenever you like as long as you write me entertaining things about Joey/Ronnie love. xD

Which, of course, is the main reason I steal her at all. XD

hehe of course. We're such joey/ronnie fangirls!

I know. XD It's hilarious to me that we're fangirls of our own characters.

hahaha. It can not be helped in this situation.

'Nother story!

My muse is unending as of late. Just write write write write write while my drawings go abandoned.

This one's more about Chris, though, Friend's character who got in a car crash (hey that sounds familiar) and loses most of his left leg as a result.

Yep.

-----


"So it looks like you're finally ready to be discharged. Congrats."

"Seriously?"

"Yep." Joey flicked through a couple pages on the clipboard he held. "Today's the day. You can finally go home, and I don't know how the fitting for the prosthetic is arranged, but I imagine that'll be set up within the next few days." He smiled and tucked the clipboard under his arm, shoving his hands into the pockets of the dark green medical scrubs he worse. "So yeah, you'll be outta here once we get you a wheelchair, maybe some crutches to get around the house for the next few days, and sign off some paperwork."

"Great. I'm freaking sick of being stuck here." Chris looked down at the bed. He noticed Joey follow his gaze, to where the blanket was tented by his right leg, but fell flat where his left leg should have been. He had been stuck in this hospital bed for months because of it. Admittedly, as much as he wanted to leave, the thought made him a bit nervous. How would others look at him? Just a cripple?

"My shift ends in about twenty minutes," Joey continued, checking his wristwatch, "so I'll be taking you home and probably sticking around a bit to make sure you're set."

Chris shook his head. "I'll manage it myself," he said darkly. "You don't have to stay with me."

"That's nice."

A nurse brought in a wheelchair and left it by the door, pausing to give Joey a quick smile. Joey gave an awkward wave as the woman left and shook his head. "I think she keeps flirting with me. It's a little weird."

"Oh no, not smart and beautiful women flirting with you. What a terrible life you must lead."

"Hey, I have a girlfriend and you are fully aware of the fact." Joey picked up a small knapsack that he had dropped at the foot of the bed a few minutes prior. "I took the liberty of getting you some actual clothing, by the way. Might be a little big, considering all the weight you've lost, but I figured it'd be better than the crappy medical gown."

Chris took the bag and unceremoniously dumped its contents into his lap. Jeans and a plain black t-shirt. "Thanks," he said.

"Welcome. You can change into that and I'll be right back. Gotta go check up on another patient before I clock out," Joey said, thumbing over his shoulder. "She's not exactly my favorite to deal with, but Allan'll have my head if I don't make sure she's alive, plus I need to get someone to check off your paperwork, so I'll be back in a few." With that, he turned and left the room, closing the door with a gentle click behind him.

Chris sighed and carefully swung his leg over the edge of the bed, pausing a moment afterward. The movement took more effort than he had expected. He grit his teeth and began dressing as quickly as he could. The jeans proved themselves difficult when he couldn't stand to pull them on, but he managed. The left leg of his jeans fell flat, dangling toward the floor. He sighed, knowing it was a sight he would have to get used to for awhile.

Joey returned just as Chris finished, peeking his head in to make sure Chris was decent before swinging open the door. "Excellent, I didn't have to try to help you," he remarked with a smirk.

"I wouldn't have let you."

"Yes, yes, we all know you're very manly." Joey offered his hand. "C'mon, let's get you in the chair and get you out of here."

Chris scowled and slapped away his friend's hand. "I'll do it by myself," he said.

Joey shook his head. "That's a bad idea," he replied. "If you haven't noticed, you only have one leg and you haven't moved in awhile. You won't be used to trying to do everything yet."

"So? That just means I have to start learning."

"That's what the physical therapy will be for. For now, just let me help you." Joey's smile dimmed a bit. "I can guarantee you won't get very far."

"Pff."

Joey rolled his eyes. "A'ight, fine," he said, stepping away from the bed. He gestured to the wheelchair, which sat about four feet away. "Get yourself in there, then."

"I will." Chris put his foot down on the floor, then stared across the room at the wheelchair. Suddenly, it seemed more like it was twenty yards away. He hesitated and glanced at Joey from the corner of his eye. His friend stood there, in his green medical scrubs and dirty black converse, with his arms crossed casually and an expectant look on his face.

"Well?" he prompted.

"I'm going!" Chris grit his teeth and put his hand down on the bedside table for support. He could make it. It wasn't that far away. Using the table for support, he slowly pushed himself into a standing position.

For a second, he was upright. He grinned in triumph and was just about to say something to Joey when his leg suddenly gave out. He tumbled toward the floor and was only saved from a fresh round of bruises when Joey caught him by the arm.

"So, by the way, all your muscles have kinda atrophied," Joey remarked, helping Chris to sit back on the bed. "It happens when you don't move for a long time."

Chris blushed fiercely out of anger and embarrassment. "Shut up," he muttered.

"Wanna try that again?" Joey pulled the wheelchair over and turned it so Chris could sit of his own volition. "Or would you rather get out of here without breaking anything else?"

Chris pointedly refused to respond. He carefully slid to the edge of the bed again, leaned forward to grab hold of the wheelchair's arms, and managed to shift into the seat without falling over again.

"Excellent. Now we can both get out of here." Joey moved to push the wheelchair for Chris, but Chris turned and again swatted at his hands.

"I can do it!" he snapped.

Joey sighed and held up his hands defensively. "Fine," he said. "Be a stubborn asshole. Never mind what I just said about you having no muscle mass to speak of. I'm going to go get a Mountain Dew out of the lounge." He ducked around Chris and out the door. Chris watched him go down the hallway before determinedly grabbing the wheels of his chair.

"Stupid," he muttered. "I'm not going to be a cripple. I can manage myself." He inhaled a deep breath and pushed on the wheels, trying to move himself forward. They squeaked as they moved, but he only gained a couple inches of distance before gasping out and having to stop. It was harder to move than he realized. Maybe he should wait for Joey to come back . . .

No. He could do it. He clenched his jaw and tried again, managing to gain almost a foot of movement before he had to stop again, breathless. Why was he so weak? He expected to be a little out of shape from being bedridden so long, but this just seemed ridiculous.

The wheelchair kept rolling even after he stopped trying to move. He quickly pushed the wheels again, grinning as the momentum made it easier. He sped ahead several feet, and he was almost through the door when he came to an abrupt stop.

The wheel had caught on the doorway.

"Damn it!" he swore loudly.

"Ready to go, then?" Chris looked up as Joey returned, a blue bottle of soda in his hand and a backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder.

"Yeah," he replied. "Let's just get out of here."

"Lead the way." Joey took a swig of his soda and spread his free hand out wide, gesturing out to the empty hallway.

Chris just looked down.

"You look stuck," Joey said.

" . . . Yeah."

"Need some help?"

Again, Chris chose not to reply. His face was red again as he purposely turned to the side.

Apparently, Joey understood his friend's silence. Without another word he stepped through the narrow space left in the doorway, grabbed hold of the handles on the back of the chair, and managed to free Chris and push him down the hallway ahead.

Both of them were silent for several moments. The atmosphere was broken only by the sounds of the hospital: voices, nurses carrying items back and forth, phones ringing. After a minute, Chris could hear Joey messing with something, but he couldn't quite turn around to see what and didn't want to make it look like he cared.

"Here," Joey said suddenly. Chris looked up as Joey offered another bottle of soda over Chris' shoulder. "Grabbed you a Coke while I was getting mine."

Chris took the bottle and looked at it for a moment. "Sure you don't want to try to open it for me?" he asked.

"I figured you could do that yourself." Joey smirked. Chris couldn't help a bit of a smile too as he twisted the top off his soda, but he hesitated before taking a drink.

"Sorry," he said quietly.

"Hm?"

"I said sorry. For being a pain in the ass. I just . . ." Chris dug his fingertips into what remained of his leg, clutching at the denim of his jeans. "I don't like feeling helpless. I don't feel like I can do anything like this."

To his surprise, he heard Joey chuckle quietly. "Ah, it's alright. Don't worry about it," Joey said, shaking his head, though Chris couldn't see the action well. "I get it. It's not like I had a lot of fun letting Michelle and you and Zakuro do everything for me after my accident, either."

"Yeah, but you could get worse if you moved around because of your ribs. I'm not . . ."

"You're missing a leg, Chris. It's going to take awhile to get used to whether you like it or not. You're just going to have to put up with the fact that you can't do everything until you get your prosthetic and get used to that, too."

Chris watched the floor as the tiles passed by.

"Trust me, I'd let you do everything if I thought you could. I don't like feeling that helpless, either. Unfortunately, when you get the shit beat out of you, you don't have a lot of choice. If you push yourself too hard, you're just going to make it worse, and you're broken enough. I don't want to see you more broken."

Chris didn't reply, picking at the label on his drink bottle.

"Trust me on this. I'm a doctor," Joey added. Chris could practically see him grinning and knew he wasn't angry anymore.

"You are not. You're an intern," Chris retorted.

"Yeah, well, close enough."

Chris made a disbelieving "tch" noise and they both laughed, earning a glance from the front-desk secretary as they made it to the double doors at the front of the hospital. Chris took a long drink of his Coke, reveling in the taste of something that didn't come from the hospital kitchens, before speaking again.

"We both really need to stop getting the crap beaten out of ourselves."

Joey chuckled quietly as he maneuvered across the parking lot. "Yeah, we kinda do."

Quote :

"She's not exactly my favorite to deal with, but Allan'll have my head if I don't make sure she's alive..."

Allan... What a random name XD

Reading that made me want to write something.... Unfortunately I just don't have your skill...

Heh, I just needed a doctor name. Dr. Allan sounded legitimate. XD

And the only way to get better at writing is to practice. :3 I don't think I'm THAT wonderful but I'm certainly only where I am because I've been writing for a few years.

I was just pointing out that Allan is a random name...
Unless....

Do you watch Two And A Half Men?
Because if you do, you constantly hear Allan calling himself Dr.

I've never watched that show.

If anything, I accidentally pulled the same from a webcomic, which happens to be titled Allan and follows the day-to-day adventures of a kid by the same name.

*Kinda wishes he had not chosen such normal names for his characters....*

-hugs Thepsy- that happens but they fit and that all that matters.

Heh, normal names are probably better than extraordinarily weird ones. =P I try to choose names that are within the realm of reality, like Devon, which can be a girl's name.

Zakuro was a little weird, but that's just because it was Japanese. :U And it's not entirely weird, considering she is half-Japanese on her dad's side.

[/explanationnobodyaskedfor]

Right. ^-^

Most of my female chacaters are named after flowers, and one of them has the last name same as a anime chacater. Guess which one, and who have the same last name?

Most of my guys have normal name which is not a bad thing.

I prefer simple names. "Tyro" is short and sweet. So's Leth, or Dom or Digital but I like to use words in Finnish for most of my character names. Like Tuli or Toivo.

Older!Joey monologuing about Chris' car accident.

Not much.

Forgot how fun it could be to write first-person.

-----


It wasn't fair.

As childish as it sounded, that was damn near the only thing I could think of at that point. I'd gone through the swearing, the threats of what I'd do if I could have gotten my hands on the other driver, the everything else that went with it. All I could think was the same thing: it wasn't fair that Chris was here.

He was a pain in the ass sometimes. A lot of the time, even. But he still hadn't done anything to deserve being in that crash, a front-end collision that lost him his leg and left him entirely unconscious and unresponsive.

I worked at that hospital as an intern, so I had to see him. Every single day, I was forced to make my rounds. I tried to put his room off last, sometimes even considered getting someone else to trade so I wouldn't have to go in and see him. In the end, though, I still had some sort of stupid hope. Maybe I would go in there and check his charts to find that his heart rate had increased at some point, or better yet, that he was awake and sitting up and giving some stupid grin like he wasn't even aware he was hurt at all.

Never happened, of course. I'd go in every day and he would still be laying there, silent, scarcely breathing well enough to avoid having a breathing tube shoved down his throat. They probably would have made me do it. I would have had to refuse.

What is it, I wonder, that's different about trying to treat your friends in the hospital? Fortunately, there was little I could be forced to do besides making sure he was still alive (and I was always afraid I would go in just as his heart monitor flat-lined). If anything, I would have expected to be happy to be able to help, knowing that I was right there and the only person I could trust to make sure he was okay. It was nothing as the sort. I can look at a patient and tell them exactly what is wrong, down to the atomic level if the issue runs that deep. It's a burden to look at your best friend of innumerable years and think of how his heart rate has dropped, how each nerve in his leg was severed, what each of the bones in his body is called and their exact purposes and how little use they have once they've been crushed into a virtual powder.

I went for two weeks. Every day, save my days off, I would have to go in that room, look at him, find out he still wasn't any better, and leave. The third week, I started shoving that room off on Marshall and told him not to tell me anything unless it was good news.

And yet every day, after my shift was over, I'd get my things, go in that room, and wait just to see if Chris would wake up.

The other night, I did the same thing. I don't know why, but right then, standing there, I realized just how close I could be to losing him. His condition was stable, but there was no way to know how long his coma might last, or if he would even wake up. I had two and a half weeks by that point to realize this, but it only just then hit me.

I ended up having an anxiety attack in that room. Thankfully, nobody saw me.

Half an hour later, I scrubbed my face dry of tears and left the room, bowing my head so nobody could see the wreck I was certain I looked like. On the drive home, a different thought stuck in my head, and it ended up haunting me the rest of the night.

What the fuck was the point of becoming a doctor if all I could do was watch him die?

CAN I JUST STOP WRITING ABOUT THESE TWO FOR FIVE GODDAMN SECONDS

-----

Michelle sighed and rested her head in her hand. Five o' clock in the evening and hardly a word from Joey. Even now he sat, studying again, the futon folded up and books and papers splayed across two-thirds of it.

She was old enough now not to expect an enormous celebration on her birthday, but couldn't he at least pretend to acknowledge the day for what it was?

Joey looked up when he heard her disappointed sigh. "Feeling okay?" he asked.

"Fine."

He didn't seem satisfied by the answer--if anything, he looked a little hurt by the curtness with which she spoke. "If you say so," he replied before returning to his work, scratching some notes down in a notebook in his lap.

Another minute passed by quietly before she stood up and pulled her coat on stiffly. This drew Joey's attention again. "Leaving?"

"Yeah," she replied simply. "Getting late."

Joey looked at his watch. It was barely past five; Michelle usually waited until later to leave. He shook his head and got to his feet as well, gently catching her by the arm before she could go for the door.

"What's wrong?" he asked, this time his voice firm. "Are you angry at me for something?"

Michelle looked at him in disbelief. A mixture of anger and disappointment welled inside her, but she forced herself to keep steady. "Perceptive," she remarked sourly.

"Wha--well, why? I don't . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, you know, I know you're not a huge fan of big celebrations or anything, but it'd be nice if you at least remembered my birthday," she spat. "Since you obviously didn't."

She watched his expression fall as the realization dawned on him. "Yeah, now you get it," she said bitterly, pulling her arm from his grip and heading for the door again. She felt tears welling in her eyes and angrily blinked them back. "Don't worry about it, I'm obviously taking up too much of your precious studying time anyway."

"No--Michelle, wait--" Joey said quickly, reaching out and catching her by both arms to keep her from leaving. She started to push him away before he said, "I didn't forget!"

"What?" She stopped and looked back at him.

"I didn't forget," he repeated. He shook his head and let her go. "God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean . . ." He ran both hands back through his hair, seeming stressed. "No, Michelle, I know it's your birthday, I have something for you, just--" He shoved his hands in his pockets as though looking for something, swore quietly, and looked back to Michelle. "Just wait here, okay? I'll be right back." Before she could respond, he moved away and ducked into the small alcove at the end of the hallway, a space he normally used for storing extra possessions.

He came back a moment later with a small wooden box in his hands. He offered it to her, looking a bit sheepish. Silently, she took it from him, feeling her anger melt away.

The box itself was no bigger than four inches long by three inches wide, maybe two inches tall. The wood was stained a dark, rich brown, shiny and smooth to the touch. An elegant design of curving shapes was cut out of the lid and backed by a lighter-colored wood, and silver hinges attached the lid to the body.

"You're, um, supposed to open it, by the way," Joey remarked as he watched her, a small, nervous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Michelle delicately lifted the top of the box. Inside, resting atop a bit of folded black cloth, was a necklace. It was a wide black ribbon with a silver clasp, and some sort of charms that she couldn't quite see. She lifted it by the ribbon to examine the accessories; the first was a silver coin, with some sort of symbol cut out of it that looked Asian in origin, but that she couldn't quite identify. Hanging from a tiny loop on the coin was another, smaller charm, a tiny dragon with outstretched wings.

"I um, I know you're not really into jewelry," Joey said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, "but I figured I could make something that was a little more interesting than shiny rocks on a string, so . . ."

"You made this?" Michelle asked in surprise, looking between the necklace and him.

"Did you forget that I'm a part-time artist?" Joey replied with a smile. He gently took the gift out of her hands and stepped closer, working to fasten it around her throat while she stood, uncertain of what to do. "I tend to pick up a lot of random crap over time, from projects I don't finish or whatever else, so I ended up having the coin and the dragon just kinda lying around, anyway. And a coworker of mine is really into woodworking and has a bunch of shop tools at his house, so he let me use them to put the box together, too." He laughed a little bit. "I have nearly-full cans of varnish and glaze and a box of sandpaper I'm never going to use again, but . . . ah well."

"Oh . . ." Michelle suddenly felt an overwhelming amount of guilt. She had gotten so angry with him, and meanwhile he had been working on this gift for days.

"The symbol in the coin's Japanese kanji, by the way," Joey continued, taking his hands back when he finally had the clip secure. "I checked and double-checked several times some time back when I wanted it for something else. It means strength, and I know that sounds sorta stupid but I figured that since you're a martial-arts black belt, you might appreciate it more."

Michelle reached up and touched the coin, drawing her fingertips across the cut-out design. She smiled shyly and looked down at the floor, feeling both grateful and ashamed. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I didn't know you put all this effort into this."

"Welcome," he replied. "And I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to make you think I'd forgotten." Joey laughed softly and again pushed a hand through his hair. "It was gonna be a surprise . . . I was gonna give it to you right before I took you out to dinner, but obviously it didn't work out quite right . . . Didn't even think about the fact that not saying anything all day would just make it look like I didn't care."

Michelle grinned and suddenly embraced him. Joey chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, happy that she was no longer upset.

"I love you," Michelle said, content not to move from that spot for awhile.

"Love you too," Joey replied, kissing the side of her head. "Happy birthday."

Well that is most definitely a side of Joey I haven't seen before.

I love this stories of Joey. I glad that we see more then one side of him in every piece. He and the others are truly awsome and not mary sues at all. -hugs- He is very much human, and I can realite to him.

Psyco: He doesn't really consider it his best side. XD Him and his dignity . . .

Rosegurl: Glad to hear it. C: I work hard to make everyone multi-faceted. No fun to have characters that are just two-dimensional, after all.

That is true. The other day I try to draw Joey but it came out looking like a girl.

It's okay. XD I tried to draw him the other day 'cause I've been trying to give him a new hairstyle, but he ended up looking like a girl then, too.