5 B E G I N N I N G S



Here are five beginnings. Would appreciate constructive critiques, comments, or even five endings...




                "Here she is." said the nurse as she pulled back the curtains. The young patient looked pale, as she lay in the  hospital bed. There was still blood on the covers and on her  clothing. Another casualty.


                "Is she the one?" asked the nurse. He nodded.


                The nurse carefully pulled part of the covers off. He nearly winced at the sight. She was still wearing the short khaki shorts. There was no leg sticking out from the right short, just dried blood.


                "Does she know?" he whispered as she carefully replaced

the covers. She shook her head.



                When she came to, they were thousands of miles away. She was lying in a soft bed, outside, in quiet garden. She had new clothes on. A clean white shirt, and clean khaki shorts. He was standing over her, redressing her wound.


                "You've lost your right leg." he said bluntly, as if to prove a point made long ago.


                Her eyes focused on her shorts. There was only one leg. Where was her right leg? What had happened? Why did she have no tears?




                They first discovered that she had the tumor at the photoshoot. They were doing the last calender cover shoot. The producer wanted something provacative, something eye-catching. After some consultation with the lighting specialist and the photographer, they agreed on a pose.


                They positioned themselves by the edge of the rink. She stood up and rested her right leg on the railing, so it was perpedicular with her body and left leg. A fan was turned on to make her short skirt flutter a bit, but not show anything.


                He got under her and softly caressed her right thigh with his hands. He slowly licked the underside of her thigh as the film was exposed. It was then that his tongue felt the slight bump in her slender bony thigh. That was the last photograph of her in which she still had two legs.



                The young girl flipped though the calender. Before setting it back on the shelf, she took one more look at the cover. A lone tear fell down her cheek. With a slight limp, she slowly made her way out of the bookstore.


                The register attendent noted that the girl seemed to have a bit of an athletic figure, even under the dark slacks. Too bad, she walked with the limp.




                "Get her out of there!" someone shouted before several people laboriously pulled her out of the water and laid her on the deck of the boat. Part of her right thigh flapped around as she was moved. Her face grimaced in pain. Several people rushed in with towels to wrap around the remains of her leg.


                The shark had torn off her right leg about three-quarters the way above the knee. She moaned softly in agony as the towels were instantly soaked with blood. She was lucky to be alive.


                "Somebody get her some water!" a person shouted. By now, they had gone through several sets of towels. There was a large pool of blood on the deck. Fear was beginning to overtake the horrible pain, as she watched blood gush out of the severed end of her leg.


                "Just relax," said a calm voice beside her. "We're  on our way to the hospital. Everthing's going to be okay." The bleeding slowed to a trickle and stopped. She slowly lost consiousness.




                She vividly remembered the moment she became an amputee.


                She was sitting, with her right leg strewn across one rail. She had her white shorts on. The sun was in her eyes. She heard the  train rumbling toward her. The large wheels  turned on the track, almost in slow motion. Her long and slender leg was gleaming in the sunlight.


                Yet, for some reason, she couldn't react. As soon as the shiny steel wheel came in contact with the inside of her thigh, her whole body was thrown up. Her thigh turned pale white.  The combination of the turning wheel and the rail sliced right  through the slender thigh like the blades on a pair of scissors.

A cold electric metallic sensation was the last feeling she would  ever have from her right leg.


                Her body fell down as soon as the wheel passed. Her  hands instinctively reached the upper part of the thigh (which was still connected to her). There was no blood-yet. The stump was pale and cylindrical. The end was a little flat from the  enormous pressure of the train wheel. She could see the  intricate structure of muscles, bones, and blood vessels inside her wound.


                Then the blood came. First, the stump returned to it's  original tan. She watched as what was left of her leg, cradled in her hands turned blush red. The blood slowly oozed out the end at first, then began to gush out faster and faster.


                Soon after the blood, came the pain. She emptied her bladder, threw back her head, and wailed as a sensation more intense than childbirth shot up from her thigh.


                She wasn't sure if she was exhausted from screamingor from loss of blood. She vaguely remembered the paramedics arriving. By that time, the bleeding had almost ceased. Her femoral artery had naturally closed up to keep her from bleeding to death. They carefully placed her on a stretcher and loaded her into the ambulance.




                "I ask you one more time." He demanded. "Will you marry me?" An armed thug stood on either side of him.


                She shook her head. "No."


                She was tied down on a metal table, facing him. All four limbs were restrained with rope. She was being held in a warehouse of some sort. There were several large pieces of equipment scattered about.


                "If I can't have you," he continued. "Nobody will."His thugs brought over one of the large pieces of

machinery. He walked over and stroked her right leg. Sheshivered as his cold hand touched her flesh.


                "What are you gonna do?" she asked, almost sarcastically. "Kill me?"


                "Of course not." he replied. "This is a high-powerindustrial laser." He pointer to the machine the thugs were setting up.


                "It can cut through flesh," he explained. "And there will be no bleeding, as all the blood vessels will have been cauterized. Therefore, little medical attention is needed."


                He lifted her short tennis skirt and ran his hand along her long slender, yet muscular leg.


                "Cut off her leg." he ordered the thugs.


                She gasped in horror as the thugs aimed the apparatus  at her calf below the knee.


                "Marry me," he said. "Or your tennis career is over."


                "I'll win Wimbleton with a prosthesis before I marry you." she spat.


                He paused. "Aim the beam at her thigh, just below her hip." he said to the thugs. He turned to her. "Above-knee amputees have much more difficulty maintaining balance."


He walked away.


                The thugs pulled her skirt up, and turned on the beam. She thrust her head back as she cried from the intenseburning sensation. She was overcome by the fumes of her own burning flesh.



                When she came to, the pain was gone. She was lying on the floor of the warehouse. Something was laying on her stomach. She saw that it was her severed right leg, already quite cold. Tears welled up in her eyes as she held the slender limb. Rigor mortis had already locked the knee.


                She lost it when she looked at her own skirt. One leg. There was no obvious outline of a stump. The pleats on the right side of her short tennis skirt were draped flat against  the ground.




from: deadbeef