Two more from the archives. The second one continues beyond the first sentence; just click on the 'read more' link. I've rejigged the layout so I can fit more posts on the page.
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Michael hated going to the Doctor.
His earliest memory was of having his head stitched after his brother Ron had knocked him down the back stairs. It hadn’t been deliberate; in fact, Ron had seemed more upset about it than Michael did - at least, he did until the doctor took out the needle and thread. That needle seemed at least a foot long to the not-yet-three year old and he started screaming even before the thread went through the eye. It had taken all the strength of both of his parents to hold him down while the doctor sewed him up.
He’d made very few visits to the doctor since.
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Joyce viewed every meal she sat down to with a certain amount of suspicion, for she fully believed her children were going to poison her.
She felt it would provide her with a certain satisfaction if they did, for she knew they would expect to reap the financial rewards of her estate they would be surprised to find that that amount was, in actuality, so little that, as it was, she could hardly afford to support her current extravagant lifestyle for much longer.
Her three children - Alan, David and Miranda - had indeed considered poisoning their elderly mother on more than one occasion. It was one of the few things they had in common. But, despite the desire, they had abandoned the plan some time ago, for they felt, as Miranda had rather aptly put it, ‘The old bag is probably so poisonous that she’d be immune to anything we could slip into her sherry anyway.’
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