Friday Fictioneers — Discarded Vegetable

wired

You’ve agreed with each other, five years is long enough. Your voices  tunnel through my ears into my bruised brain.

The doctor says, “If by some miracle your mother regains consciousness, she’ll be a vegetable.”

What sort? A carrot, cabbage, or potato? Fried, roasted, half-baked, perhaps? Indeed, you’ve decided to uproot me from this life and cast me into the earth like a shriveled pod.

Foolish you, discussing your inheritances while standing at my bedside.

When you leave, I’m going to perform a double miracle and you won’t see me for the dust, my discarded  life-support tubes your constant reminder.

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Friday Fictioneers: 100 word stories
Prompt: image (c) Connie Gayer (Mrs Russell)

Author: Sarah Potter Writes

Sarah is a British eccentric who writes offbeat fiction, haiku and tanka poetry. She's into nature, gardening, and natural health. For her, sociability is something that happens in short bursts with long breathing spaces in between.

28 thoughts on “Friday Fictioneers — Discarded Vegetable”

    1. Dear Rochelle,
      I’m sure there are quite a few people out there who live to regret what they’ve said within earshot of someone who’s apparently “out of it”, whether comatose, cataleptic, or just plain old and ailing.
      I love that expression “sucker punch”. Just about sums it up!
      All best wishes
      Sarah

      Like

    1. Despite these days of political correctness, it seems that the “vegetable” insult has slipped through the censorship channels. It’s as if to say that the severely brain-damaged are not being being accorded the same respect as others, or are no longer classified as sentient beings.

      Like

  1. This was absolutely brilliant, Sarah! I was reading thinking… the cads… well, they’ll get their comeuppance, won’t they?
    By the way… I keep telling my kids to not expect a penny from me… I’m planning on blowing it all before I leave this earth! 😛

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Glad you liked it, Dale. By the way, I like your philosophy, gal:-) One of my jobs is singing at funerals. I pick up all the vibes there — the vultures gathering, some of whom only started showing an interest in the deceased in the final months. I’d hate to think that anyone was being nice to me, just for the sake of an inheritance (not that I’m rolling in it anyway, but even if I was).

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Sorry…pressed send before I was finished!

        Kids should create their own fortune and not expect anything!
        I can well imagine you see (feel) all the vibes. Nothing like the expectation of inheriting to bring out all the vultures….

        Liked by 1 person

  2. I love this flash Sarah, you gave a wonderful twist at the end. That’ll show those scrounging relatives. I used to work in the probate department of a law firm and it never failed to amaze me how the smell of money changed people overnight. Sadly. xxxx

    Liked by 1 person

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