Virtual Trouble
by Brian Morrison
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Some mysterious goings on at the local infirmary. A man is admitted to A & E with serious wounds to his body. But how could he have sustained the injuries whilst lounging around on a sofa?
_____________________________________________________________________
Doreen Gilchrist was missing one pearl earring, and her lipstick had only been half applied. These two things aside, Doreen was dressed in her finest attire. A long wine coloured evening gown that she had purchased especially for the occasion, hung well on her. The matching handbag and shoes looked just perfect. For once the items had not been purchased on line, but were the product of a four hour jaunt through the city’s shopping mall. An observer would probably notice that Doreen was slightly over-dressed for a casualty department waiting room. She glanced over towards the clock on the wall. It was showing nine thirty five. The hands hadn’t moved very much since her last time check. It wasn’t a real clock. It was an image of a clock face that was being beamed onto a blank wall from a projector that was hidden away in an obscure corner of the room. Very cleverly done. The second hand sweeping across the virtual clock face was keeping time in a laborious way with the blinking liquid crystal cursor on her digital wrist watch. The virtual clock was a conversation piece really, and boy did she need to converse with someone! Anyone! She was worried about Anthony, her husband. He had been wheeled through the double doors to the treatment room at exactly eight fifteen. That would have been around the time that the main course was being served at the country club. Two empty chairs would be evident on table number fourteen. Their friends would be asking questions. Doreen could hear them in her head.
They won’t be here now. They have never been this late for a function before. I spoke to Doreen just this morning. She was so looking forward to the meal.
When a rapid response ambulance calls at your house with its blue lights swirling, you tend to forget important stuff in the confusion. The second pearl earring wasn’t important. It was still lying on the night stand by the bed. She had forgotten to lift her mobile phone on the way out. Her friends at the country club would find out eventually what had occurred. She hoped that it would be good news that she would be sharing with them in the morning. The paramedic had the good sense to urge Doreen to telephone a family member. She used the house phone and was relieved to get through to Gerald, her son. Doreen looked at the virtual clock once more. Nine thirty eight. Gerald said that he should be with her at a quarter to ten.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Virtual clocks don’t make a ticking noise, neither do digital watches. Doreen wasn’t a great fan of gadgets. Both Anthony and she were in their forty eighth year. They had both witnessed the, often overwhelming, march of the high tech age. Right now she was thankful for any wizardry that was keeping her husband alive through those doors. The paramedics had asked her questions. It was an important part of their job. Doreen knew that, but the questions were confusing. They kept asking her about the injuries that Anthony had sustained. How can you injure yourself sitting on the sofa?
He was unconscious when she walked into the lounge. He had a trickle of dark blood on his top lip, but he was still breathing. She didn’t know much about first aid so in the fifteen minutes period that passed before the ambulance arrived, Doreen just held Anthony’s wrist, feeling the welcoming beat of his pulse through her fingertips. His iPad was lying on the floor. The screen had cracked in a couple of places. For some unknown reason, Doreen had brought it with her in the ambulance. It was an unconscious act; another part of the confusion that was tormenting her in that trying time. Anthony was forever urging her to buy the weekly groceries on line, along with other items, such as, jewellery, dresses, hats and gloves. He loved to browse on his iPad. It was his passion.
‘There’s no need to go out shopping,’ he would say, ‘you can do anything – buy anything from the comfort of your armchair.’
Nine forty seven. According to the virtual clock, Gerald was two minutes late. It wasn’t like him. Gerald was always punctual – always early. Anthony was the same. He had been ready and dressed for the dinner function for a full thirty minutes prior to settling down on the sofa with his iPad. Earlier in the day he had been studying the route to the country club on Google maps.
‘What’s the postcode?’ he had asked. ‘No wait – I can find that info by searching for the country club on Google.’
He was obsessed with that thing. He would often say to Doreen, ‘Just going for a drive, dear,’ when in actual fact he was on the Street View function of Google maps. He would patiently make those little one hundred yard jumps, following the arrows and looking out for landmarks. She recalled the day that Anthony had done a virtual drive on the iPad, all the way from their home in Motherwell to St Andrews university. The occasion was Gerald’s graduation. He even picked a parking spot in a quiet side street on the campus. Much to the annoyance of Doreen, the trip north and east was punctuated with Anthony’s running commentary about what lay around the next bend, and how many roundabouts they were going to encounter.
‘I really know this road so well, you know,’ he would say proudly, ‘even though I have only ever driven along it in Street View.’
He was as proud as punch when he discovered that the afore-mentioned parking spot was free.
A low hissing noise accompanied the hospital main doors sliding open. Another bit of technical wizardry, thought Doreen. Gerald strode into the corridor and made a beeline for his mother. He had a worried look on his face, which wasn’t surprising.
‘What exactly happened?’ asked Gerald.
‘Oh I wish that I knew,’ said his mother, ‘he was just relaxing on the sofa with his iPad whilst I was getting dressed. I just happened to walk through to the lounge and there he was lying on the floor. He looked terrible. I thought he had . . .’ Doreen couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. She cried for the first time and fell into Gerald’s arms.
It was just then that the doctor walked though from the treatment room. Doreen quickly gathered her composure again and dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. ‘Please tell me that my husband is all right,’ she said.
The doctor’s face showed the slightest trace of a smile. In Doreen’s eyes, that meant nothing whatsoever. Doctors, in her experience, always smiled slightly before imparting terrible news. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said, which was another signpost to impending doom. ‘Your husband is resting, but the good news is that we believe he will make a complete recovery in a few weeks or so. He needs time for his injuries to heal up. We have him in sedation at the moment as he is suffering some discomfort from the fractured ribs.’
‘Fractured ribs?’ said Gerald, ‘How did that happen?’
‘We were hoping that you could enlighten us on that respect,’ said the doctor. ‘The injuries are quite extensive. At least four fractured ribs, a punctured lung and a suspected ruptured spleen.’
‘He got all that from falling off the sofa?’ said Doreen, ‘This is the same thing that the paramedics were saying in the ambulance. I can’t understand it at all.’
The doctor said, ‘Exactly what was he doing at the time? Do you know for sure?’
‘Yes, I know exactly what he was doing. He was doing his usual stuff on the iPad.’
Gerald noticed the iPad sticking out of his mother’s bag. ‘Is that it there, mother? It looks as if the screen has cracked.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he must have fallen on top of it. I think it is broken for good. It has the word ‘Scam’ written across it.’
Gerald took the iPad from his mother and studied it closely. ‘Mother,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘did dad say anything whilst you were in the bedroom? Did he tell you what application that he was using?’
Doreen thought for a moment or two and then said, ‘He was doing the Street View thing. Yes, I remember now. He was plotting the way to the country club. You know what he is like, such an addict to that iPad. He goes on and on relentlessly about the things that he can do on it.’
‘And what was the last thing he said, mother? Try to remember.’
Doreen concentrated again. ‘It was a remark about how he wished he could drive with his finger as he does in Street View. He said something about shortcuts and how he could go around roundabouts in the . . .’
Gerald had spread his thumb and forefinger over the iPad screen. It was still functioning. The image on display took Doreen’s breath away. The radiator grill of the articulated lorry had a large dent across it. The word ‘Scam’, when zoomed out changed to ‘Scammel’, a well known truck manufacturer. There was debris on the road in front of the vehicle.
‘He said that he could even go round a roundabout in the wrong direction,’ Doreen uttered slowly, as she gazed at the accident scene on the Street View application of the head-on collision.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Some mysterious goings on at the local infirmary. A man is admitted to A & E with serious wounds to his body. But how could he have sustained the injuries whilst lounging around on a sofa?
_____________________________________________________________________
Doreen Gilchrist was missing one pearl earring, and her lipstick had only been half applied. These two things aside, Doreen was dressed in her finest attire. A long wine coloured evening gown that she had purchased especially for the occasion, hung well on her. The matching handbag and shoes looked just perfect. For once the items had not been purchased on line, but were the product of a four hour jaunt through the city’s shopping mall. An observer would probably notice that Doreen was slightly over-dressed for a casualty department waiting room. She glanced over towards the clock on the wall. It was showing nine thirty five. The hands hadn’t moved very much since her last time check. It wasn’t a real clock. It was an image of a clock face that was being beamed onto a blank wall from a projector that was hidden away in an obscure corner of the room. Very cleverly done. The second hand sweeping across the virtual clock face was keeping time in a laborious way with the blinking liquid crystal cursor on her digital wrist watch. The virtual clock was a conversation piece really, and boy did she need to converse with someone! Anyone! She was worried about Anthony, her husband. He had been wheeled through the double doors to the treatment room at exactly eight fifteen. That would have been around the time that the main course was being served at the country club. Two empty chairs would be evident on table number fourteen. Their friends would be asking questions. Doreen could hear them in her head.
They won’t be here now. They have never been this late for a function before. I spoke to Doreen just this morning. She was so looking forward to the meal.
When a rapid response ambulance calls at your house with its blue lights swirling, you tend to forget important stuff in the confusion. The second pearl earring wasn’t important. It was still lying on the night stand by the bed. She had forgotten to lift her mobile phone on the way out. Her friends at the country club would find out eventually what had occurred. She hoped that it would be good news that she would be sharing with them in the morning. The paramedic had the good sense to urge Doreen to telephone a family member. She used the house phone and was relieved to get through to Gerald, her son. Doreen looked at the virtual clock once more. Nine thirty eight. Gerald said that he should be with her at a quarter to ten.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Virtual clocks don’t make a ticking noise, neither do digital watches. Doreen wasn’t a great fan of gadgets. Both Anthony and she were in their forty eighth year. They had both witnessed the, often overwhelming, march of the high tech age. Right now she was thankful for any wizardry that was keeping her husband alive through those doors. The paramedics had asked her questions. It was an important part of their job. Doreen knew that, but the questions were confusing. They kept asking her about the injuries that Anthony had sustained. How can you injure yourself sitting on the sofa?
He was unconscious when she walked into the lounge. He had a trickle of dark blood on his top lip, but he was still breathing. She didn’t know much about first aid so in the fifteen minutes period that passed before the ambulance arrived, Doreen just held Anthony’s wrist, feeling the welcoming beat of his pulse through her fingertips. His iPad was lying on the floor. The screen had cracked in a couple of places. For some unknown reason, Doreen had brought it with her in the ambulance. It was an unconscious act; another part of the confusion that was tormenting her in that trying time. Anthony was forever urging her to buy the weekly groceries on line, along with other items, such as, jewellery, dresses, hats and gloves. He loved to browse on his iPad. It was his passion.
‘There’s no need to go out shopping,’ he would say, ‘you can do anything – buy anything from the comfort of your armchair.’
Nine forty seven. According to the virtual clock, Gerald was two minutes late. It wasn’t like him. Gerald was always punctual – always early. Anthony was the same. He had been ready and dressed for the dinner function for a full thirty minutes prior to settling down on the sofa with his iPad. Earlier in the day he had been studying the route to the country club on Google maps.
‘What’s the postcode?’ he had asked. ‘No wait – I can find that info by searching for the country club on Google.’
He was obsessed with that thing. He would often say to Doreen, ‘Just going for a drive, dear,’ when in actual fact he was on the Street View function of Google maps. He would patiently make those little one hundred yard jumps, following the arrows and looking out for landmarks. She recalled the day that Anthony had done a virtual drive on the iPad, all the way from their home in Motherwell to St Andrews university. The occasion was Gerald’s graduation. He even picked a parking spot in a quiet side street on the campus. Much to the annoyance of Doreen, the trip north and east was punctuated with Anthony’s running commentary about what lay around the next bend, and how many roundabouts they were going to encounter.
‘I really know this road so well, you know,’ he would say proudly, ‘even though I have only ever driven along it in Street View.’
He was as proud as punch when he discovered that the afore-mentioned parking spot was free.
A low hissing noise accompanied the hospital main doors sliding open. Another bit of technical wizardry, thought Doreen. Gerald strode into the corridor and made a beeline for his mother. He had a worried look on his face, which wasn’t surprising.
‘What exactly happened?’ asked Gerald.
‘Oh I wish that I knew,’ said his mother, ‘he was just relaxing on the sofa with his iPad whilst I was getting dressed. I just happened to walk through to the lounge and there he was lying on the floor. He looked terrible. I thought he had . . .’ Doreen couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. She cried for the first time and fell into Gerald’s arms.
It was just then that the doctor walked though from the treatment room. Doreen quickly gathered her composure again and dabbed at her nose with a handkerchief. ‘Please tell me that my husband is all right,’ she said.
The doctor’s face showed the slightest trace of a smile. In Doreen’s eyes, that meant nothing whatsoever. Doctors, in her experience, always smiled slightly before imparting terrible news. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said, which was another signpost to impending doom. ‘Your husband is resting, but the good news is that we believe he will make a complete recovery in a few weeks or so. He needs time for his injuries to heal up. We have him in sedation at the moment as he is suffering some discomfort from the fractured ribs.’
‘Fractured ribs?’ said Gerald, ‘How did that happen?’
‘We were hoping that you could enlighten us on that respect,’ said the doctor. ‘The injuries are quite extensive. At least four fractured ribs, a punctured lung and a suspected ruptured spleen.’
‘He got all that from falling off the sofa?’ said Doreen, ‘This is the same thing that the paramedics were saying in the ambulance. I can’t understand it at all.’
The doctor said, ‘Exactly what was he doing at the time? Do you know for sure?’
‘Yes, I know exactly what he was doing. He was doing his usual stuff on the iPad.’
Gerald noticed the iPad sticking out of his mother’s bag. ‘Is that it there, mother? It looks as if the screen has cracked.’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘he must have fallen on top of it. I think it is broken for good. It has the word ‘Scam’ written across it.’
Gerald took the iPad from his mother and studied it closely. ‘Mother,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘did dad say anything whilst you were in the bedroom? Did he tell you what application that he was using?’
Doreen thought for a moment or two and then said, ‘He was doing the Street View thing. Yes, I remember now. He was plotting the way to the country club. You know what he is like, such an addict to that iPad. He goes on and on relentlessly about the things that he can do on it.’
‘And what was the last thing he said, mother? Try to remember.’
Doreen concentrated again. ‘It was a remark about how he wished he could drive with his finger as he does in Street View. He said something about shortcuts and how he could go around roundabouts in the . . .’
Gerald had spread his thumb and forefinger over the iPad screen. It was still functioning. The image on display took Doreen’s breath away. The radiator grill of the articulated lorry had a large dent across it. The word ‘Scam’, when zoomed out changed to ‘Scammel’, a well known truck manufacturer. There was debris on the road in front of the vehicle.
‘He said that he could even go round a roundabout in the wrong direction,’ Doreen uttered slowly, as she gazed at the accident scene on the Street View application of the head-on collision.
About the Author
Born in Saltcoats, Brian Morrison has a day job at the Hunterston Power Station. But in his other life he is well known as a caricaturist and comedy sketch writer. More recently, he has become a novelist and a writer of children's stories. His dark comedy, Blister, is available on Amazon.