"Noooo!"
Today’s post is based on a writing prompt I shared in a previous Daily Drafts & Dialogues post: “Noooo!”. Keep reading to see what I wrote, and to access more writing prompts.
What I wrote below is based on the following writing prompt: Write a fictional scene in which someone shouts, “Noooo!” Or write about the last time you said ‘no’ to someone in real life, and how it made you feel and why.
I was nearing the end of my double shift, slamming the third cup of coffee I’d had in less than two hours, trying my best to keep my eyes open as I updated a few patient charts at the station, when I heard one of the most heart wrenching sounds a person could ever hear in their lifetime: urgent wails of a mother pleading for her child’s life.
I couldn’t see the mother from where I stood, but I would be able to recognize that type of wail anywhere on Earth after being a nurse for over fifteen years on three separate continents.
I rushed over to the triage bay emitting the wails and ripped back its curtain.
I saw a woman in her mid-to-late twenties sitting upright on a gurney. She was gripping the left side of her abdomen, which was covered in blood, with her right hand, as her other hand gripped the wrist of a small boy who couldn’t have been over the age of four. The boy, who had silent tears streaming down his face, was being wrenched away from the woman on the gurney by an older woman in a faded black suit who had an armed man in fatigues standing inches behind her.
I hear all types of cries in my line of work, but a mother’s desperate wail for her child will always send a shock of adrenaline surging straight through my veins in a way that no other cry will.
I reached for the boy instinctively, and was about to speak when another nurse rushed over and said, “Mrs. Morales, please try to stay calm until we can get you into surgery,” as she dutifully checked the patient’s vitals. “This woman is only taking your son to the childcare center on site. There is noth—”
“We will be going to a different type of center for processing,” the older woman interrupted, stonefaced, as the boy started to squirm in her arms.
It was then that the other nurse, seemingly satisfied with the patient’s vitals, finally registered the armed man standing behind the woman holding the boy.
“Since when do child protective services representatives come armed?”
“They don’t,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even-keeled as possible. “In fact, weapons aren’t allowed in this area of the hospital. So you’ll have to leave immediately, before I call security.”
The woman and the armed man did not budge. We were now at a standstill, like you see in one of those old corny westerns. And if the situation hadn’t been so dire, I probably would have laughed or made a joke to ease the tension in the room. But this wasn’t a laughing matter at all. It was actual life or death, not some silly drama played out on a silver screen.
I could tell Mrs. Morales was trying her best to hold back her sobs, to stay calm, so she wouldn’t bleed out more than she already was. But she was clearly relying on our help to save her son, as she was in a much worse state than we were.
Based on their body language, I could tell the interlopers were becoming more agitated, which only infuriated me more. Who the hell were these people?
“I’ll take the boy to the childcare center on site,” I said through clenched teeth, reaching for him, “while you fill out whatever appropriate paperwork is needed.”
“No, you will not,” the woman scoffed, as she flung the boy to the side, out of my grasp, making him wail for his mother, who was openly pleading for him now.
“We will be going to the Krome Detention Center, which is more than you’re required to know,” the woman added, turning on her heels to leave.
“On whose authority?!” I yelled after her, hot on her trail as she calmly yet swiftly traversed the ER, prompting the armed man accompanying her to shove me forcefully back, away from the woman and the child she was carrying… or dragging I should say, at that point.
“The federal government’s,” the woman singsonged over her shoulder as the automatic glass doors began to close behind her.
“Noooo!”
[Write what happens next, then share what you come up with in a comment or chat thread so we can discuss it.]
I might revise, edit, or add to this draft in the future. Stay tuned.
Leave a comment to start a dialogue, and be sure to see today’s writing prompt below if you’re interested in completing a creative writing exercise like this one.
© This work is not available for artificial intelligence (AI) training. All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton; Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. While, as in all fiction, the literary perceptions and insights are based on experience, all names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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Today’s Writing Prompt
Writing Prompt: Jane Doe
Write a scene in which there is a Jane Doe, or a woman who can’t properly be identified.
Writing Tip
Before you start writing, consider: Why can’t this woman be properly identified? Where is she? Why? Is she alone? Is she dead or alive? And will she be properly identified by the end of the scene?
