Sunday, 15 October 2017

Lucky Lucas

Roger Noons


a glass of Amontillado.

 

    My head ached! Not the usual pressure behind the eyes, every nerve ending vibrated pain. My cheeks burned; there was hissing in my ears; my lips itched; mucus dribbled from my sinuses down my nostrils; my teeth hummed and my eyeballs were being pressed, seemingly in a vice. To complete the agony, my neck felt like I was wearing a collar four sizes too small.
    Forty eight hours later, I felt slightly improved. My neck had been released and I had stopped leaking from the nose. The man wearing the unbuttoned white coat had rested his right buttock on the side of the bed.
    ‘You’re a lucky man, Mr. Lucas.’
    Lacking a left hand and having been told that I would never walk again, made me feel grateful that I was not in this consultant’s ‘unlucky’ classification.
    ‘I’ve been blown up doctor!’
    ‘Yes, but your colleague was killed.’
    ‘Perhaps he was the lucky one,’ I murmured.
    ‘Come now Mr. Lucas, you mustn’t think like that. You have a lot to live for.’
    ‘Yeah? How many one-handed classical guitarists do you know?’

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