The hubby and I have been hosting a monthly writing group at our house and he’s been great about his prompts for our writing sprints. I wanted to share one because it was fun, and I’ve got so many of these flash pieces now. It’s short, more just to warm up, but my prompt was,“Trust me, I’m a Doctor!” Enjoy!



Yellow-green hair flopped over the back of the airline seat. The owner of said hair grunted a few times, coughed, and leaned his seat back just far enough that I saw what he was reading, How to get Laid on an Airplane. Great… I would need to sit behind the pervert.

The plane jutted and jittered as the pilot seemed to be angling away from the air pocket we’d flown through. I gripped my armrests tightly. My blood rushed, heart pounded… If only I hadn’t just watched Lost, then I’d not be so damn paranoid.

A woman final walked down the isle with my drink. I’d been waiting too long, but safety and all. The moment it was in my hand, I gulped. It took all of three seconds for me to realize my mistake. It wasn’t what I’d ordered. It was vodka! And I was vastly allergic.

I felt the blood rush to my face.

“That wasn’t what I ordered. I need water, now!” I shouted to the stewardess.

She looked at me perplexed, and stood there.

“I need water now! Hurry! I’m allergic to vodka.”

I felt myself fading and everything turned to black. I heard the other plane patrons humming about, all talking, but it was the man in front of me that got my attention. I opened my eyes long enough to see the yellow-green haired man hovering over me, mouth agape as if he were about to perform CPR.

I shook my head, but he put his hands in the air and shouted, “Trust me, I’m a Doctor!”

Three things happened in that moment.

First, my life flashed before my eyes in spurts of chaotic images.

Second, I realized I’d rather die then let the creepster suck my face.

And third, I discovered that no matter how sick I am in the moment, my right hook isn’t affected by my dying state. I clocked the guy so hard that he fell into the aisle, likely unconscious.

I faced the stewardess again and grabbed her arm.

“Get me some fucking water now.”

She yelped, and scurried off to the front of the plane.

I shook my head and looked down to the moron on the ground that had tried to give CPR to a breathing person. I wondered if that was one of the ‘getting laid on a plane’ tactics from his book.

I ignored his moans of pain.

This is what I get for flying. Next time, I take the train!

*image by Florin Florea on freeimages.com*

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