Short Stories & Flash Fiction
Comments 2

Everything In Its Own Time

She kept thinking about that infection she’d had a few months back, the one that had sent her sprinting to the bathroom every few minutes because the urge to pee just wouldn’t go away. It took two rounds of antibiotics and a small molehill of cranberry capsules before she kicked that little health snafu but now she could almost wish she hadn’t.

Bathrooms are cold in December. She hadn’t bothered switching on the heating with the living room log burner turning her home into a hothouse. If she didn’t have the touch of death for potted plants she might almost considered growing topical flowers in the kitchen, add a bit of colour to the magnolia paint she was too nervous to change. But knowing her she would probably buy the one exotic plant that would kill her, dramatically and painfully. Under no circumstances was she going to let her obituary read mauled to death by triffids.

She twitched her knees and tried to shift her butt into a more comfortable position. Perhaps she was dehydrated? When was the last time she drank a glass of water and did tea count? She was sure that there was something somewhere about tea not counting towards hydration, or was that an internet thing?

“Stupid tea.” she muttered, the pot she’d brewed earlier would be absolutely stewed by now and she’d only managed the one cup before the internet world had sucked her in. Common sense had told her that Web MD wasn’t a good idea, type in symptoms for diagnosis; enjoy the rest of your panicked day!

She’d been sure she needed to pee. She’d been halfway though one of her shows, distracting herself from the shopping bag stuffed into the desk drawer, and all the signs had been there. At least she assumed the signs were there, thinking about it, how did she ever know when she needed to pee? She knew it was a sort of… a kind of… it was a sensation of sorts, a sensation that didn’t seem keen to commit to a follow-through.

Staring at the slightly chipped tile by the shower she tried to relax, willing her muscles to loosen.

“Ten seconds, cap on, result pane up and a three minute wait. An extra minute if the result came through as negative just to be sure.” she whispered the instructions over to herself, finally feeling something give.

“Ten seconds, cap on, result pane up and a three minute wait. An extra minute if the result came through as negative just to be sure. Let it be negative, let it be negative.”

She clipped the cap back onto the stick and stuck it in the window sill.

“Oh god please let it be negative.” she begged. “Because hell knows how I’m going to explain otherwise.”

This entry was posted in: Short Stories & Flash Fiction


Carol Forrester is a twenty-four year old writer trying to be a better one. Don’t ask her what her hobbies are because the list doesn’t get much beyond, reading, writing and talking about the same. She has a 2:1 BA degree in history from Bath Spa University and various poems and stories scattered across the net. Her flash fiction story ‘Glorious Silence’ was named as River Ram Press’ short story of the month for August 2014 and her short story ‘A Visit From The Fortune Teller’ has been showcased on the literary site Ink Pantry’s. Most recently, her poem ‘Sunsets’ was featured on Eyes Plus Words, and her personal blog Writing and Works hosts a mass of writing from across the last five years. She has been lucky enough to write guest posts for sites such as Inky Tavern and Song of The Forlorn and is always open to writing more and hosting guest bloggers here on Writing and Works. With hopes of publishing a novel in the next five years and perhaps a collection or two of smaller works, Carol Forrester is nothing if not ambitious. Her writing tries to cover every theme in human life and a lot of her work pulls inspiration from her own eccentric family in the rural wonders of Shropshire life.


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