WeWriWa—Conflicting reactions

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder. He fled back in Budapest, and now is at a nearby hospital with his mother. X-rays revealed Imre broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand. When the doctor asked how it happened, Imre confessed he may have killed someone. His mother is horrified and assumes this was a Soviet soldier. Imre then gives a summary of what happened.

Ward of Budapest’s Hospital in the Rock, Copyright Ali1234~commonswiki

Mrs. Goldmark shook her head. “I thought I raised you better than to break into people’s houses, even if you were motivated by noble intentions. I won’t even touch the issue of resorting to violence.”

The doctor chuckled. “It’s the law of the jungle, Mrs.—”

“Goldmark.”

“It’s simple man-to-man justice. Just a moment ago you said you hoped he’d killed a Russian soldier to protect his girlfriend. Why is this any different? He was avenging a woman’s honor, like a real man.”

WeWriWa—Talking with the doctor

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder. He fled back in Budapest, and now is at a nearby hospital with his mother. The doctor has just explained Imre broke his entire left hand, his dominant hand.

This has been slightly tweaked to fit ten lines.

© Nevit Dilmen

The doctor wrapped gauze around Imre’s hand and put it in a splint. Then, at last, the blessèd morphine was injected.

“Were you in a bar fight, son, or did one of those damned Russians attack you?”

Imre looked at the doctor warily. “Are you going to keep this information private? I don’t want word about this to get around.”

“Think of me like a priest. Everything we say is confidential, and can’t be used in court. What exactly did you do?”

“I think I killed someone,” Imre blurted out.

WeWriWa—Imminent diagnosis

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a few lines after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder and a broken hand. He fled back in Budapest, and now is at a nearby hospital with his mother.

Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Hospital, Copyright Czimmy at Hungarian Wikipedia

The doctor pressed on the hand in various spots, resulting in even more agonized screams. Imre was practically in tears when the doctor finally injected some kind of numbing agent after cleansing the wounds and putting ointment on them.

“I’m going to send you for an X-ray to see which bones exactly you broke. When the numbing agent has taken full effect, maybe you can tell us just how you hurt your hand.”

Imre got into a wheelchair, holding his injured hand across his lap, and closed his eyes. When he reached the X-ray room, he mutely obeyed all the instructions given. He was barely aware of the X-raying process, too focused on getting rid of the pain.

Back in the examining room, the doctor looked at the developed X-ray and said something in medical-speak. Mrs. Goldmark asked for a layperson’s version, and the doctor pointed to the broken finger, knuckle, and metacarpal bones. There were also several fractures in the wrist.

WeWriWa—Awaiting medical attention

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees. This week’s snippet comes a bit after last week’s.

It’s November 1945, and Imre chose to stay behind in Budapest when his girlfriend Csilla and their friends were smuggled into Italy. Hoping to prove himself a hero, he went to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder. Now he’s back in Budapest, at his family’s apartment. His mother wants to know what happened to make him come back across the river to her in Pest after starting an independent adult life in Buda, but Imre is in too much pain to speak.

Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Hospital, Copyright Czimmy at Hungarian Wikipedia

Mrs. Goldmark got dressed as swiftly as possible, then helped Imre to the door and down the stairs. Imre continued screaming in agony as they walked down the street in search of a taxi. He was begging for more vodka by the time a taxi pulled up.

“Take us to Bajcsy-Zsilinszky Hospital,” Mrs. Goldmark said.

Imre slumped against his mother during the ride, which seemed to take all night. His senses were growing fuzzy by the time they entered the hospital.

“My son has a very painful hand injury,” Mrs. Goldmark told the receptionist. “I don’t think he can wait much longer to see a doctor.”

Imre made all the pain noises he could vocalize as they waited for a doctor to be brought out. When the doctor appeared, he had to be supported by both his mother and the doctor as they walked into an examining room.

WeWriWa—Home sweet home

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Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. I’m now sharing from Chapter 45, “Imre’s Revenge,” of my hiatused WIP The Strongest Branches of Uprooted Trees.

It’s November 1945, and Imre has stayed behind in Budapest instead of being smuggled into Italy with his girlfriend Csilla and their friends. He’s determined to perform some modern Herculean labors, starting with going to Csilla’s hometown Abony to recover important possessions she hid last year.

Imre got into a violent fight with the gendarme who took over Csilla’s house, Mr. Mészáros, which may have ended in murder. He also punched a brick wall during his white-hot rage, and there’s no more adrenaline to mask the pain. Imre got out of the house with Csilla’s valuables, some of them on her old sled, and hightailed it back to Budapest.

This has been slightly tweaked to fit ten lines.

Wesselényi Utca, the street where Imre’s mother lives, Copyright FOTO:Fortepan/UVATERV

Mrs. Goldmark was jarred from her sleep after midnight by the loud banging on the door. She threw on a robe and looked out the peephole, expecting to see a drunken Soviet soldier, but instead saw her firstborn child.

“What happened to you, Imcsi?” she whispered as she opened the door. “Did you and Csilla break up?”

Imre screamed in agony as he stumbled into the apartment, still dragging the sled, and headed right for his old bedroom, where Nándor was already awakened. Júlia had woken up too, and now tiptoed into the living room.

“Are you able to speak?” Mrs. Goldmark sat on the bed and rubbed his shoulders.

“My hand!”

Mrs. Goldmark turned on the nightstand lamp and gasped when she saw Imre’s swollen, bruised, bloodied left hand.