SFW's FEATURED FICTION
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THE ARM
Vera Searles
Genre:
Fantasy
Format: PDF
Words:
5,600
Price:
$0.99
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SHORT EXCERPT |
Stan Hodny sat in the bullpen, massaging his right arm. It looked like the left-hander out there on the mound was in trouble. Just gave up another walk. Why didn't the call come for Stan to start warming up?
The phone rang. At last. Jake, one of the bullpen catchers, answered. "Yeah, okay, we'll get them ready."
Stan was on his feet.
"No," Jake said. "Not you, Stan." He looked down the row at two other relief pitchers and pointed. "The old man wants you. And you."
The two younger men left the bench with their catchers. Splat! Splat! Stan heard the balls hitting the gloves. The kids were strong, fast.
He was still on his feet. "You sure, Jake? The old man knows I can get loose quick."
Jake looked at him sadly. "No, Stan. He said he wants the kids to get ready."
As Stan watched the remaining innings, it was like watching a countdown to his own funeral. The years were passing him by. This was 2009 and he was thirty-six now. They' d probably let him go soon. Lots of good kids coming up. Who needed Stan Hodny any more? Not much of a starter, but a solid reliever for the short stretch. Loads of saves in the book. But this year his age seemed to catch up to him.
Stan sighed, pulled his cap down over his eyes and slouched back on the bench. He suspected the Yankees were keeping him on only out of sentiment; he'd been with them twelve years. The end of the season wasn't far off, and they'd tell him then. He stopped massaging his arm. Stupid habit anyway.
After the final out, Stan showered, got in his car for the drive home to Westchester. He'd have to tell Jenna that probably this was his last year in baseball. Have to tell the boys, too. They thought he was the world' s greatest pitcher -- their father, the Yankee.
He didn't want to go home yet, maybe stop for a beer.
* * *
Two days later, Stan woke up in a hospital bed. He'd had only had two beers, and knew he wasn't drunk, yet he had crashed into a tree. The memory was hazy, but he recalled being pinned in the wreck with his right arm mangled, and it had to be cut off to free him.
Now, with his eyes still closed, he slowly reached his left hand over to touch where his right arm had been. It felt icy cold and fiery hot all at the same time. Must be that phantom pain they say you feel when a limb is gone.
He touched flesh. He must be dreaming.
Then he smelled perfume, and felt Jenna's hand on his shoulder, her kiss on his cheek. "You awake, Stan? How do you feel?"
"Okay." Stan opened his eyes. In the same instant, he saw Jenna, the IV pole, the pale green walls, and a black arm lying on the bed next to him.
It must be the dope, giving him hallucinations. He was happy to see Jenna, but his eyes kept going back to the black arm. He opened them wider, tilted his head to stare at the arm. It was really there. His face contorted with disbelief.
"What's wrong, Honey?" Jenna asked. "Are you in pain? I'll get the nurse."
"No, not pain," Stan said. "What's this -- this thing?" He raised it slightly. "Oh my God, it really is mine."
Jenna asked, "Don' t you remember? They told you everything, but maybe you were still doped up. They attached another arm. Yours was too mangled, so they took the only one available. Organ transplants have been successful, and they started doing fingers, toes, hands, from donors. Yours is the first arm. It took really well. They said it was a perfect match."
"Match? Can't you see? It's a black arm!" He tried to shake it free, but it wouldn't let go.
"Stan, stop it. I meant it was a perfect match to your blood type and all that other medical stuff. They're going to write it up in the medical journals because it took so quickly. You healed almost overnight. It' s completely functional, and the doctors are amazed at how well it went."
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR |
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Vera Searles has sold over three hundred short stories. Her work was recently published in DEMON MINDS, NEOMETROPOLIS, DRED, ABERRANT DREAMS, and PANIC ANTHOLOGY.
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