A Hospital Scene…Out of the Blue
In June I attended Joan Dempsey’s Gutsy Great Novelist Retreat, and she had all of us writers who were in attendance come up with a scene for our work-in-progress that incorporated the same elements in a setting.
In other words, we were all given the same setting: a hospital room and items within the room that needed to be included in the scene. But, we had to write it to fit our own characters. I am working on a historical fiction book, and the main characters are Chandan and Devi.
I was surprised that even though we were all given the same setting and objects, everyone’s story was completely different. Some were thrillers, others science fiction, and still others magical realism, yet they were all unique. It’s amazing how we can take the same elements and come up with scenarios that are unique to who we are and the story we are relaying.
Here is my scene:
Chandan lay on a plastic-frame hospital bed on that evening in early July. It wouldn’t be the last day of his life and but he wasn’t aware. He still had seven months to live, but as a cool breeze swept through the room, he thought we would soon pass.
He only wished Devi was there with him to witness his final moments, but the hardback visitor chair was empty. Then again, he had missed hers, so perhaps this was appropriate. She had died on her own and so would he.
A pastel print hung on the wall. It showed cows standing in a grassy field, with sun and mountains beyond. Part of the image was foreign to him, as Chandan hadn’t seen mountains in his life, but the fields and cows reminded him of his village, and oddly, he felt connected to home.
He reached for the plastic cup of water on the nightstand, and when he found the cup empty, he filled it with the warm water from the plastic pitcher next to it. Thankfully, by 7:30 pm, the usual bone drying July heat had dissipated, and Chandan didn’t mind that the water wasn’t ice cold.
He wouldn’t have known it was 7:30 pm if it hadn’t been for the small clock radio on the nightstand. The world outside, which he viewed from the one large window in the room, was filled with vivid summer colors. They danced to his delight, and for the first time, he understood what Devi must have felt when she had delighted in the colorful textiles she so loved. Green from the lush trees jumped out at him, tiny lilac and yellow flowers shimmered in the grass, and what seemed like blue mountains in the distance sparkled in his eyes. The golden hue from the late sun gave the view a warm touch. God, he missed his Devi so much.
Her face in his mind changed his mood. He had woken up in the hospital feeling sorry for himself, and now he was excited at the prospect of meeting Devi in the afterlife.
The room took on a different light. The black flat-screen TV that had hung menacingly close to his bed now seemed to float graciously in the air. The fuchsia pink trash can with a neon green plastic, which had at first been obnoxious to his eyes, now reminded him of the delicate smooth silk scarf Devi had cherished.
I’m going to try to incorporate this scene in some way in the novel. I’m certain I’ll have to modify it to make if fit to the time period I’m writing in, but I’m so grateful to Joan and the exercise she provided us as this has given me more tools to play around with as a writer.