Murse 1, p.1

M.u.r.s.e. #1, page 1


M.u.r.s.e. #1

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M.u.r.s.e. #1

  Cover Design by TEN21 Design Company

  An Affiliate of BSIC Publishing

  Cover Copyright © 2012 TEN21 Design Company

  Cover Copyright © 2012 BSIC Publishing Company

  M.U.R.S.E. #1


  Short Story Series


  Christopher Lee Cousino


  M.U.R.S.E. #1


  Short Story Series

  Copyright © 2012 by Christopher Lee Cousino

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  About the Author

  “To do what nobody else will do, a way that nobody else can do, in spite of all we go through; is to be a nurse.”

  Rawsi Williams (B.S.N. , R.N., Motivational Speaker)

  Chapter 1

  “My name is Colby Jack, and I’m a murse. No, not exactly the way you think. I am a male nurse, yes…but there is more to it than that. What’s that? Yes, my name is Colby Jack. Just like the cheese, yeah. No, I never get picked on for the fact that I was named after a cheese. Or that I work in a profession predominately associated with women. Yes, I was being sarcastic. Go ahead, get it out. Cackle away. I hear you, I agree it is pretty funny. No, my parents don’t hate me! They are wonderful people. They just happen to be cheese enthusiasts. No, I don’t have a brother named Monterey. Why do you ask? Oh, I see. Hardy har, very clever. I only have one sibling, a sister. No, her name is not Pepper. Good grief can you forget about my cheesy name and let me get back to my story!?

  Yes, I did notice the “play on words” I just used. Yeah, sure, I’m a funny guy. I’m a regular Will Ferrell in scrubs. What’s that, you don’t find him funny? I love his movies. Yeah, sure, what do I know…I’m just a male nurse named after a cheese. You’ve had your fun, now listen up. I have a story to tell, one that seems unbelievable but trust me it is one hundred percent factual, my friend. How do I know? Because I’m living the story. I guess it all started yesterday, in the morning…a crappy one at that.


  I had overslept, which wasn’t like me…except when it was. I’d been up late watching the Tigers play on the west coast. It had been a tight game and I couldn’t go to sleep until I knew what happened. Unfortunately, I nodded off on the couch, without an alarm and without knowing the result of the game. I woke up to birds chirping and noticed right away there was far too much sunlight beaming in through the windows. Twelve hour day shifts don’t start when the sun shines bright, meaning I get to work before the sun gets its butt up into the sky in the morning. More importantly, however, it meant that I was late as fudge.

  You know that feeling, everybody does at some point in their life. If you are saying you don’t, well I’m sorry but you are a liar. And you were probably running late the last time you had somewhere to be.

  Anyways, the feeling I’m referring to is when you first wake up and stretch, hear the bird chirps and feel the burn of the far too abundant sunlight, for a split second you think it’s all good, that it’s your day off. Then, when realization sets in, you try to convince yourself you are still good, but then your brain and common sense help that hope to fizzle quickly. Next, you are left with “the moment of truth”.

  You are terrified to look at the time, knowing deep down that it is already too late. It is like the clock is a seven foot tall serial killer with a hockey mask and a jigsaw knife, ready to skewer your guts the second you look at them. Except when you look at the clock you just know you are late, no guts skewering really involved, so that probably wasn’t the best analogy. Anyhoo, moving on.

  I looked at the clock and all my dreams were dashed. The clock read 9:28 AM. I was supposed to start my shift at 5am. Yeah, I know…that’s what I thought at the time too. But watch the language okay, no need to get all PG-13 up in here. Yes, what you said would be PG-13, not rated R. I don’t know why, I don’t make up the rules regarding ratings for movies. Listen to my story, alright.

  So, I was late, I had finally realized I was late, and I was devastated. I’d only been working at Henry Ford Hospital for six months, but I absolutely loved doing so. My dream as a kid had been to be a doctor, and Henry Ford Hospital was where I wanted to do it. I don’t know why, it just always seemed like the best hospital in the Detroit area, in my opinion. But things happen, life gets in the way and I switched gears, getting my RN degree instead. No, I am not a loser or a failure for making that choice. Hey, I am going to get my MD eventually, you just wait. I am taking a class here and there and down the road I will get into med school. Whatever, stop interrupting me.

  So, I loved working at Henry Ford, but in the six months I’d been there, I’d already been late ten times. Ten tardies in six months may not seem bad to you, but trust me, it was bad. I was on probation, and I had been told if I had one more tardy, I was toast. So, you can just imagine my despair when I realized I was already four hours late. Even worse, when I checked my phone I had zero messages or missed calls. Zilch. Notta. Goose egg, baby.

  Which meant, in my mind, that they were finished with my B.S. I was so anxious and upset about it that I vomited right there in my living room. Yeah, I know it’s gross…I still haven’t been able to get the stain out of my carpet.

  Well, I wiped my mouth, took a quick shower, and got my butt over to Henry Ford. Walking through the parking lot and through the halls, I felt like everyone was looking at me with disgust. I felt like everyone knew I was late, that I was a good for nothing slob who had wasted a great opportunity like working at such a fine hospital. It could have all been in my head, okay, odds are it was. Anyways, point is, I just kept feeling worse. I felt so lowly and scummy that by the time I got to my floor, I was practically crawling with my head dragging on the ground in front of me. The first person I saw was, of course, Regina, the love of my life.

  I walked past her with my head down, ashamed of how I must look to her, with me showing up so late. She walked right past me, saying hi but nothing else as she continued walking. She sounded cheerful, like she might have smiled, but I wouldn’t have known because my head was down. What’s that, you want to know if she was mad? I don’t know. What’s that? She must have been mad if she just walked right past me without saying much? No, I don’t think so, that was pretty usual for her to do to me. What’s that you said? That that was not very nice of her for being my girlfriend? Oh, no, um…I think I might have misled you.

  You see, Regina is the love of my life. But she doesn’t know I exist. Her walking right past me is what happens every day, because I never say anything back to her. Ever. I can hardly even look at her without butterflies going nuts in my stomach and making me feel like hurling. If I try to talk to her, nothing comes out but squeaks and jibberish. Besides, she has a boyfriend, or at least she had a boyfriend. More on that later.

  What’s that…I’m pathetic? Yeah, I can’t argue with you there. Okay, okay, I’m a loser when it comes to girls, I get it. Let me know when you’re done laughing so I can finish my story. Really, you are laughing that hard? You’re really lifting my spirits here! You should be a motivational speaker. Alright, take your time. I’ll wait.

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