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sick_wilson2014-07-15 10:47 pm
mnstrtruckslash.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2014-07-15 10:47 pm
Entry tags:
Accidents Will Happen
Title: Accidents Will Happen
Author: MnstrTruckSlash
Words: about 675
Rating: G, I guess. If it were a live action movie, it would be a 20-minute long short. Because it would be shown in chronological order, it would be rated PG because there is an intense-ish electrocution scene but in writing form it is very tame and not terribly disturbing.
Summary: One third of accidental injuries occur in the home. Unfortunately for Wilson, several of these injuries tend to occur at once. Takes place after House and Wilson move into the loft in season six. One minor accident leads to another, which leads to another, unleashing a chain of events that just keeps getting worse and worse for Wilson.
Warnings: A tiny bit OOC, and mild, mild “violence,” and it’s kind of meta, which I like but some people don’t.
Characters: just House and Wilson again
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the show or the characters.
Author’s Note: Inspired by the fun fact of the day #2
When I woke up at 3:00 am, my mouth was dryer than the Mojave desert, and my eyelids were practically glued shut from exhaustion. I groped blindly for the water glass on my bedside table, knocking it over, and spilling water onto the bed and nightstand. I quickly jumped to my feet, twisting my ankle, as I landed awkwardly. When I switched the lights on, the blub directly over my head exploded, showering me with shards of glass.
After I spent three hours cleaning up those messes, I got out the stepladder and positioned it under the broken blub. I know a trick for repairing that. This is hardly the first time I’ve had a light bulb explode on me. If you cut a potato in half, jam one piece into the broken light socket, you can twist it and remove the bulb remains safely. I climb onto the first step.
The metal frame wobbled, falling over. I crashed the ground. My chin banged hard against the carpet. One tooth bit straight through my upper lip. Blood dribbled out my mouth, down my chin and neck, ultimately staining my favorite sweatshirt. Despite all these inconveniences, I still had a light bulb to change.
So, I got back on the stepladder, more carefully this time. The potato fit perfectly into the socket. As I balanced on the platform, standing on my tiptoes, there was a knock on my bedroom door.
“Jimmy?” House called out from the hallway. “Everything okay in there?” I’d been trying to keep quite, but each accident seemed louder than the last.
“I’m sure this all sounds really distressing, but I’m fine,” I swore. “Don’t come in here. A light bulb broke. There’s probably still glass in the carpet.” House—of course—ignored my warning. He barged in. I couldn’t see what my friend was doing, because it was too dark.
“You’d be able to play Mr. Fix-it better if there were some lights were on,” Greg declared and before I could protest, he flipped the wall switch. A jolt of electricity raced through my body, burning my hand, sending my heart into overdrive, and causing me to pass out from shock.
When I came to, nearly an hour had passed. I was in Greg’s office, at the hospital. He’d bandaged my injured hand, immobilized my ankle, sutured my lip, and he had attached a stat monitor to my right index finger. He’d also been kind enough to change my clothes and clean me up. Little known fact: getting electrocuted can cause you to loose control over your bodily functions. “Jimmy, I am so sorry,” he whimpered. “I didn’t realize…”
“It’s fine,” I insisted, reaching over to calm his trembling hand. “There’s no way you could have known my hand was stuffed in an electrical socket.”
“I’m not you’re girlfriend. No hand-holding!” he declared defensively. I nodded an apology, and brought my wounded paw back to the lounge chair.
“So how bad’s the damage this time?” I asked. The average person is seriously injured less than once a year, but I’ve been cursed my whole life. I seem to get sick, and/or injured a lot more frequently than everyone else on Earth combined, especially during the summer months.
“Not too bad.” He listed my wounds. “Say..” Greg murmured, flying across the room on his rolling chair, faster than should have been possible for a person with his disability. “When was the last time you went on that LiveJournal page?”
“I dunno…Memorial Day weekend?” I replied. Luckily for me, activity seemed to have died down over the last year, and as such I hadn’t been struggling through nearly as many aliments. Then, overnight, bam a whole boatload of crazy catastrophes!
“I knew it,” Greg declared, sounding a bit too cheerful. “Dog Days of Summer, Mini-Camp: Sick!Wilson 2014!” My eyes widened in shock and horror. “Well, the good news is that it’s only going on for a week. The bad news is, there’s already half a dozen new stories posted. Looks like we’re in for a bumpy ride!”
The End
Author: MnstrTruckSlash
Words: about 675
Rating: G, I guess. If it were a live action movie, it would be a 20-minute long short. Because it would be shown in chronological order, it would be rated PG because there is an intense-ish electrocution scene but in writing form it is very tame and not terribly disturbing.
Summary: One third of accidental injuries occur in the home. Unfortunately for Wilson, several of these injuries tend to occur at once. Takes place after House and Wilson move into the loft in season six. One minor accident leads to another, which leads to another, unleashing a chain of events that just keeps getting worse and worse for Wilson.
Warnings: A tiny bit OOC, and mild, mild “violence,” and it’s kind of meta, which I like but some people don’t.
Characters: just House and Wilson again
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the show or the characters.
Author’s Note: Inspired by the fun fact of the day #2
When I woke up at 3:00 am, my mouth was dryer than the Mojave desert, and my eyelids were practically glued shut from exhaustion. I groped blindly for the water glass on my bedside table, knocking it over, and spilling water onto the bed and nightstand. I quickly jumped to my feet, twisting my ankle, as I landed awkwardly. When I switched the lights on, the blub directly over my head exploded, showering me with shards of glass.
After I spent three hours cleaning up those messes, I got out the stepladder and positioned it under the broken blub. I know a trick for repairing that. This is hardly the first time I’ve had a light bulb explode on me. If you cut a potato in half, jam one piece into the broken light socket, you can twist it and remove the bulb remains safely. I climb onto the first step.
The metal frame wobbled, falling over. I crashed the ground. My chin banged hard against the carpet. One tooth bit straight through my upper lip. Blood dribbled out my mouth, down my chin and neck, ultimately staining my favorite sweatshirt. Despite all these inconveniences, I still had a light bulb to change.
So, I got back on the stepladder, more carefully this time. The potato fit perfectly into the socket. As I balanced on the platform, standing on my tiptoes, there was a knock on my bedroom door.
“Jimmy?” House called out from the hallway. “Everything okay in there?” I’d been trying to keep quite, but each accident seemed louder than the last.
“I’m sure this all sounds really distressing, but I’m fine,” I swore. “Don’t come in here. A light bulb broke. There’s probably still glass in the carpet.” House—of course—ignored my warning. He barged in. I couldn’t see what my friend was doing, because it was too dark.
“You’d be able to play Mr. Fix-it better if there were some lights were on,” Greg declared and before I could protest, he flipped the wall switch. A jolt of electricity raced through my body, burning my hand, sending my heart into overdrive, and causing me to pass out from shock.
When I came to, nearly an hour had passed. I was in Greg’s office, at the hospital. He’d bandaged my injured hand, immobilized my ankle, sutured my lip, and he had attached a stat monitor to my right index finger. He’d also been kind enough to change my clothes and clean me up. Little known fact: getting electrocuted can cause you to loose control over your bodily functions. “Jimmy, I am so sorry,” he whimpered. “I didn’t realize…”
“It’s fine,” I insisted, reaching over to calm his trembling hand. “There’s no way you could have known my hand was stuffed in an electrical socket.”
“I’m not you’re girlfriend. No hand-holding!” he declared defensively. I nodded an apology, and brought my wounded paw back to the lounge chair.
“So how bad’s the damage this time?” I asked. The average person is seriously injured less than once a year, but I’ve been cursed my whole life. I seem to get sick, and/or injured a lot more frequently than everyone else on Earth combined, especially during the summer months.
“Not too bad.” He listed my wounds. “Say..” Greg murmured, flying across the room on his rolling chair, faster than should have been possible for a person with his disability. “When was the last time you went on that LiveJournal page?”
“I dunno…Memorial Day weekend?” I replied. Luckily for me, activity seemed to have died down over the last year, and as such I hadn’t been struggling through nearly as many aliments. Then, overnight, bam a whole boatload of crazy catastrophes!
“I knew it,” Greg declared, sounding a bit too cheerful. “Dog Days of Summer, Mini-Camp: Sick!Wilson 2014!” My eyes widened in shock and horror. “Well, the good news is that it’s only going on for a week. The bad news is, there’s already half a dozen new stories posted. Looks like we’re in for a bumpy ride!”
The End