Writing Prompt: Droolkitten Fungus Plague

It all started with a stray. A cute innocent looking little grey ball of fur with darker grey stripes stumbled along the garden into my path, mewing through a gurgle of drool. The poor little thing looked so pathetic that I couldn't help but pick it up. I knew that it was likely to have rabies, but I didn't care at that moment. I wrapped it in my light spring coat and walked through the newly budding plants of the local park, intent on finding out what I could do for the poor critter. We got to my studio apartment and I finally realized just how bonkers this was. I held a kitten in my coat that could have rabies! I shrugged and decided that the best thing to do  was to call the vet. At least they might know what to do and if it really had rabies, then... well I guess the vets would do whatever vets do.
"Georgetown Veterinary Clinic, this is Kelly."
"Hi, Kelly." I couldn't tell if 'Kelly' was a really low pitched girl, or a higher pitched guy, "I found a kitten that's drooling all over the place. Looks pretty bad. Can I bring it in?"
"Sure, hun. We have an opening at two. Can you be here by then?"
Hun..? "Yeah, I can. You don't have anything any sooner?"
"Nope. That's the earliest."
"Alright. Two it is."
"Name and a number we can use to reach you."
I'd almost hung up, but Kelly's voice kept me on the line, "Jason Jones." I said and rattled off the cell phone number I'd had since my senior year of high school, strange area code and all.
A few back and forth exchanges later and I was on my own with a drooling kitten. I sighed, and it looked up at me, a string of saliva running from one partially exposed tooth to the green portion of my windbreaker. I winced,  I'd just washed that jacket too. We had a few hours to kill so I shrugged and took the  slobbery thing into the bathroom and placed it in the tub, jacket and all. No use getting something else dirty to make the poor miserable thing comfortable. I closed the bathroom door so it wouldn't follow me and went to the corner of my room that doubled as a kitchen. My landlord would skin me alive if she knew I had a cat in my apartment, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt her, right? Unless she was allergic... ah well, the poor critter was only there until two any way. I opened my fridge and tried to find something that resembled milk. Wading through the leftover boxes from McDonald's and KFC, I finally found a half gallon of the stuff, and it smelled mostly good, so I poured some into a bowl and brought my offering into the mewling ball of fur scratching in my tub. The little guy went at the milk like a starved thing and I crouched down to watch. It was kind of cute in a drowned rat sort of way. I'd always been partial to cats, and kittens were fun to play with, so long as there was string or laser pointers involved, but this guy looked like he didn't have much more than eating food left in him for a while.

Memory-Completed but unedited version, please help me edit!

A knock came at his door. The old farmer groaned to his feet, why couldn’t who ever it was come just a few minutes earlier when he was standing? His gnarled right hand rasped against his wrinkled forehead, it’s partner opening the weather beaten door.

“What do you…” he started in aggravation, and stumbled backwards as the door forced open. An unconscious young man slumped through the entry way, knocking the old farmer to the ground.

“Lilly!” the hoarse sound of the old man screaming for his wife came out as panicked. He cleared his throat and tried again, “LILLY! Get him off me!”

A little woman shuffled quickly to the downed men, “Oh my…” she gasped. The dark haired stranger looked worse for wear, crimson blood seeped through his white shirt and along his back.

“Dear, are you alright?” she asked, crouching next to them. Her fingers felt along the young man’s throat, searching for signs of life.

“Of course I’m not alright! This great lump is crushing the life out of me!” he grumped, clearly only uncomfortable.

“Yes, dear. Just one moment…” she found a pulse, and removed her apron so she could press it against the wound. Her hands slipped under the less injured side of the dark haired man and carefully rolled him off her husband.

A groan came from both the men, pain from the young man, and disgust from the older, “How dare he get blood all over our floor. We’re never going to get that out. Doesn’t he know how hard it is to get blood out of wood?”

“Perhaps, dear. Help me get him to the table.”

“I’m not going to let him get blood all over our table too!”

“Albert. Either move the man or get me my health bag.” She ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

It was his turn to reply, “Yes, dear…” as he flopped to his stomach, then knees and finally struggled to his feet. He returned a short time later with a bulging forest green hand bag.

“It looks like a sword hole. Hand me your spirits. I need to clean the wound.”

“But Lilly…”

“Now, Albert. This man is going to get infected and die, and it will be your fault if you don’t.”

He heaved another sigh, “Yes, dear.” And retrieved his secret stash of alcohol, wishing she hadn’t been so smart to discover it.

The small woman worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and dressing the wound, and sewing it shut. Her small, sturdy, hands moved without hesitation, wrapping a bandage around the man’s torso.

“Get ready to move him while I make a bed by the fire.”

“But that’s my place to sit!”

“You can relinquish it for a few days, love. He needs it more right now.”

“You don’t even know who he is! What if he wakes up in the middle of the night and kills us both?”

“With a wound like that, he’s not going to be getting up in the middle of any night for a few days.”

“Lilly…”

“Albert, I am firmly set in this. He obviously came here for a reason. Perhaps he was lead here for a purpose.”

The old man looked into his wife’s hazel eyes, “Alright. I will give him a week. If he has not proven himself to be useful, or has shown himself to be dangerous, he will no longer be welcome here.”

“Agreed. So long as he is able to walk. Please move him inside –gently- and close the door. I will make him a bed.”

Before long, the dark haired young man slept next to the cheery fire, the sullen Albert eying him from his displaced location. His chair was now a few feet farther from the comfortable warmth of the hearth, and his crossed swords above it.

Lilly bustled around in the kitchen, as she had been before the man came to their door. To make up for bullying her husband, she cooked his favorite dish; liver and onions.

After dinner was consumed and Albert’s mood improved, Lilly checked on the young man. He would get through the night. She would have more work to do for the next few days. But to save a life was worth it.

She covered the young man in several layers of thin blankets before she put out the candles and went to bed.

……………

As the days went by, the young man showed rapid improvement. He healed almost as quickly as Albert when he was hurt. By the morning of the third day he opened his eyes for the first time.

Lilly was carefully pouring warm soup down his throat, so he could be nourished, when his eyes opened and startled her. He gasped, then started coughing on the soup, his head curled up reflexively. He alternated coughing and groaning in pain.

“Calm yourself.” Lilly soothed, “You’ve been through quite a bit recently.” She wiped his mouth with a damp cloth she had on hand. Her grandmotherly face clearly had a calming effect on the man. He relaxed, letting his head rest back on the pillow.

“Wh…” another wave of coughs prevented him from getting any more out.

“You are in my home on my farm. I am Lilly. I don’t know how you got here. And I don’t know what happened before you came to our door.” She answered all the questions that he possibly could ask with a ‘wh’, “And you are still badly hurt.”

He nodded slowly, and closed his eyes. He opened them briefly once more, “What is your name?” She asked, giving him a bit more soup.

“I… don’t remember…” He answered, his eyes closing.

She smiled at him, though he couldn’t see. The poor young man probably had a hit to the back of the head. Lilly checked, and there was a bruise forming beneath his dark hair, barely visible. She had a feeling it wouldn’t affect him too badly, but she would keep an eye on it.

She brushed the dark hair that resembled what her husband’s used to be and imagined that had she been able to have children, this young man could have been their oldest.

………………..

A full day passed before he opened his eyes again. This time Lilly was on the other side of the room, sweeping the front entry way with a wooden broom, twigs for bristles. It took her a few moments to notice, but when she did she went to his side, “How do you feel?”

“Like I was stabbed.” He rasped honestly.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you were.” She confirmed with a smile, “It wasn’t a poisoned blade, or at least not a fast acting poison. Do you feel any burning?”

“It hurts. A lot. But it doesn’t feel like it’s burning.”

“Good. What is your name?” she asked again, perhaps he would remember now.

“My name?” he opened his mouth to answer when she nodded, and left it hanging for a moment, confusion and fear expressed on his face, “I can’t remember.”

“Hmm… That bruise on the back of your head must be worse than I thought…” she gave him a searching look, “Do you remember anything that happened before you woke up here?”

He shook his head and winced, “Just pain. And fear.”

Lilly jumped as the banging door flew open. Albert shuffled in, his arms overflowing with rough hewn pine wood, the smell of warm tree sap filling the small room.

“Albert, our guest is awake.” Lilly prompted as he dumped the armful in a metal rack next to the fire place in a tumble, almost drowning out Lilly’s comment.

Albert grunted and gave the man a sidelong glance, taking in his nearly black hair and blue eyes, “Good. Maybe now he can be useful.” He turned to go to the kitchen, the front door banged against the wall in the mild fall wind, a hint of winters chill entering the house.

The scarred older man stopped in his tracks and looked back at the stranger, who looked right back at him. Albert’s eyes narrowed. He knew eyes like this young man had. They were like a memory from many years past. Years before he met Lilly. “What is your name?” His voice no longer was the genial banter of an old man, but the commanding of a general.

The man on the ground stiffened in response to the change, “I can’t remember what my name is, sir.” He responded formally.

“It seems he got hit on the back of the head in addition to the sword wound I’ve been…”

“Lilly. Please go to the back room. I’d like to speak with our… guest, alone.” Lilly looked at her husband, the first time they met clear in her mind. He had been a captain, and mortally wounded from the battle where she served as a healer. She saved him, but it took a long time. She had fallen for his wit, his heart rending experiences and kind blue eyes. Those eyes were now full of complex emotions that she couldn’t decipher. She shifted to her feet, and kissed Albert’s cheek on the way to the back of their humble house.

“Boy.” Albert got the young man’s attention, “Why did you come to my house?”

“I don’t remember the details, but I remember it being lit when the others were dark.”

Albert took a good look at the young man, sizing him up, his apparent age, he couldn’t be older than twenty five, his physical shape- well muscled, and his eyes. They were a darker blue than his own, but very familiar, “What was your mother’s name?”

“Why do you want to know?” The young man shifted uncomfortably.

“Because you look familiar, boy. If you can’t remember who you are, perhaps remembering others will help you with your name.” He took on a gentler voice.

His brow furrowed in concentration, “Her name was Mariah. Mariah Ann.” He finally answered, looking back up at the older man.

Albert sat heavily in the chair, rocking backwards with the force, “Mariah… Would your name happen to be Jason?” his voice forced, like the wind had been knocked out of him.

Recognition came to the young man’s eyes, “I… yes… that sounds familiar.” He stared at Albert with brows furrowed, “How did you know?”

“Mariah Ann was my wife before she died in a raid. We had a son named Jason.”

Jason blinked with surprise, “Are… you saying…?”

“That I’m your father? Likely.” He smiled for the first time in days, “That would make my Lilly your step mother.”

They smiled at one another, one older, one younger, and Lilly heard it all through the door, a smile of her own to be had.

Memory- An uncompleted fantastical "short story" (You should know my stories are rarely short...)

            A knock came at his door. The old farmer groaned to his feet, why couldn’t who ever it was come just a few minutes earlier when he was standing? His gnarled right hand rasped against his wrinkled forehead, it’s partner opening the weather beaten door.

            “What do you…”  he started in aggravation, and stumbled backwards as the door forced open. An unconscious young man slumped through the entry way, knocking the old farmer to the ground.

            “Lilly!” the hoarse sound of the old man screaming for his wife came out as panicked. He cleared his throat and tried again, “LILLY! Get him off me!”

            A little woman shuffled quickly to the downed men, “Oh my…” she gasped. The dark haired stranger looked worse for wear, crimson blood seeped through his white shirt and along his back.

“Dear, are you alright?” she asked, crouching next to them. Her fingers felt along the young man’s throat, searching for signs of life.

“Of course I’m not alright! This great lump is crushing the life out of me!” he grumped, clearly only uncomfortable.

“Yes, dear. Just one moment…” she found a pulse, and removed her apron so she could press it against the wound. Her hands slipped under the less injured side of the dark haired man and carefully rolled him off her husband.

A groan came from both the men, pain from the young man, and disgust from the older, “How dare he get blood all over our floor. We’re never going to get that out. Doesn’t he know how hard it is to get blood out of wood?”

“Perhaps, dear. Help me get him to the table.”

“I’m not going to let him get blood all over our table too!”

“Albert. Either move the man or get me my health bag.” She ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

It was his turn to reply, “Yes, dear…” as he flopped to his stomach, then knees and finally struggled to his feet. He returned a short time later with a bulging forest green hand bag.

“It looks like a sword hole. Hand me your spirits. I need to clean the wound.”

“But Lilly…”

“Now, Albert. This man is going to get infected and die, and it will be your fault if you don’t.”

He heaved another sigh, “Yes, dear.” And retrieved his secret stash of alcohol, wishing she hadn’t been so smart to discover it.

The small woman worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and dressing the wound, and sewing it shut. Her small, sturdy, hands moved without hesitation, wrapping a bandage around the man’s torso.

“Get ready to move him while I make a bed by the fire.”

“But that’s my place to sit!”

“You can relinquish it for a few days, love. He needs it more right now.”

“You don’t even know who he is! What if he wakes up in the middle of the night and kills us both?”

“With a wound like that, he’s not going to be getting up in the middle of any night for a few days.”

“Lilly…”

“Albert, I am firmly set in this. He obviously came here for a reason. Perhaps he was lead here for a purpose.”

The old man looked into his wife’s eyes, “Alright. I will give him a week. If he has not proven himself to be useful, or has shown himself to be dangerous, he will no longer be welcome here.”

“Agreed. So long as he is able to walk. Please move him inside –gently- and close the door. I will make him a bed.”

Before long, the dark haired young man slept next to the cheery fire, the sullen Albert eying him from his displaced location, his chair now a few feet farther from the comfortable warmth.

Lilly bustled around in the kitchen, as she had been before the man came to their door. To make up for bullying her husband, she cooked his favorite dish; liver and onions. 

After dinner was consumed and Albert’s mood improved,  Lilly checked on the young man. He would get through the night. She would have more work to do for the next few days. But to save a life was worth it.

She covered the young man in several layers of thin blankets before she put out the candles and went to bed.

……………

As the days went by, the young man showed rapid improvement. By the morning of the third day he opened his eyes for the first time.

Lilly was carefully pouring warm soup down his throat, so he could be nourished, when his eyes opened and startled her. He gasped, then started coughing, his head curled up reflexively. He alternated coughing and groaning in pain.

 “Calm yourself.” Lilly soothed, “You’ve been through quite a bit recently.” She wiped his mouth with a damp cloth she had on hand. Her grandmotherly face clearly had a calming effect on the man. He relaxed, letting his head rest back on the pillow.

“Wh…” another wave of coughs prevented him from getting any more out.

“You are in my home on my farm. I am Lilly. I don’t know how you got here. And I don’t know what happened before you came to our door.” She answered all the questions that he possibly could ask with a ‘wh’, “And you are still badly hurt.”

He nodded slowly, and closed his eyes.

………………..

A full day passed before he opened his eyes again. This time Lilly was on the other side of the room, sweeping the front entry way with a wooden broom, twigs for bristles. It took her a few moments to notice, but when she did she went to his side, “How do you feel?”

“Like I was stabbed.” He said honestly.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you were.” She confirmed with a smile, “It wasn’t a poisoned blade, or at least not a fast acting poison. Do you feel any burning?”

“It hurts. A lot. But it doesn’t feel like it’s burning.”

“Good. What is your name?”

“My name?” he opened his mouth to answer when she nodded, and left it hanging for a moment, confusion and fear expressed on his face, “I can’t remember.”

“Hmm… That bruise on the back of your head must be worse than I thought…” she gave him a searching look, “Do you remember anything that happened before you woke up here?”

He shook his head and winced, “Just pain. And fear.”

Purpose of This Blog...

This is where my writing will go so my friends and family members can read it, and to some extent the art that goes with that writing. My friends and family can also give me feedback. (Hinthint)

So enjoy the random creativity that comes from your favorite person in the form of short stories, chapters from longer stories, and the occasional creativeish rant!