A siren in the distance. What is it? An ambulance. There’s a hospital within a couple of miles of my house. Not a well-regarded hospital. JFK. Stands for Just Fucking Kill Me, the joke goes. Death. A siren in the distance. What is it? A police car. A fire truck. I don’t know. There are different sounds. There’s the wail, oscillating between low and high pitches or tones. There’s the yelp, faster and more urgent. There’s the air horn. I don’t remember which I heard a moment ago. It’s been about a half-hour, actually. And all I’ve been up to in the meanwhile is sipping a glass of lemon-lime water with ice cubes. And writing a few sentences. About whatever. No emergency to contend with, fortunately. Not tonight. I’m fine. I’m fine. There was a siren in the distance, though. An acute medical or traumatic incident. Disclosure of personally identifiable information is illegal. I’d name the patient, otherwise. Kevin or Devin. JFK was shot. Rushed to Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas. Commonly referred to as PMH. Stands for Providing Mediocre Healthcare.
About the author
Pete Riebling received a BA in English/Creative Writing from Emory University and an MFA in Creative Writing from George Mason University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bookends Review, Cosmic Double, Flash Fiction Magazine, NiftyLit, Ocotillo Review and Quibble
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