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The Thirty Days of Magrat

Joe Spivey's picture
Submission type:

Magrat shared a hard stare with her nemesis. Her nemesis, however, chose to stare back, but with the added weight of years of giving unrepressed attitude, it was Magrat who blinked first.


Looking at her feet, then, Magrat listened to Doctor Troy outlining her fate for the next month. Nurse Maisie was to be her teacher. Nurse Maisie was to be her judge. Nurse Maisie’s word was to be law. She risked an upwards glance. From the hard eyes and set frown on Nurse Maisie’s face, Magrat sensed her likelihood of adoption by the Devil’s Own begin to evaporate into years more of drudgery and all that came with it.

She was snapped out of her misery by Doctor Troy clapping her hands and rubbing her palms together in that ‘eager to get started’ way she had displayed in the camp.

“Right. Patients will be arriving soon. I’m of to the west camp so I’ll be there for the next couple of hours or so if I’m needed…” Magrat’s heart sank, she knew what was coming next. “… So,” Doctor Troy continued. “You two hold the fort here. Show Magrat around, Maise, and let’s see what she can do.”

The doctor disappeared into the treatment room, leaving Magrat and Maisie looking at each other. The head nurse folded her arms and a slow smile spread across her face. Doctor Troy appeared again, with a pair of huge holdalls slung over her shoulders.

“Right, Maise, if I’m not back by Ohhhh elevenish, give me a call. I, er… have a meeting with the mayor at noon.” From the look on the doctor’s face, Magrat guessed that she wasn’t looking forward to it. But Magrat heard her force the smile back into her voice. “Try not to kill anyone, you two. Have fun.” And then she was gone, leaving Magrat alone with Nurse Maisie. Magrat made a silent prediction.

Nurse Maisie crooked a finger.

“Come with me.”

Magrat followed the broad back of the nurse to the rear of the clinic where Maisie opened a cupboard. When the nurse turned around she was holding a much-used mop, which she extended to Magrat.

Magrat took the mop.

Called it.


Hyle Troy's picture

((your nurses are like ours?

I would rather die peacefully in my sleep, like Grandad, than screaming, like his passengers

Joe Spivey's picture

((You mean preternaturaly strong and scary? Then yes.

Stick with me kid and you'll be farting through silk.

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