By Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Someone tugged my arm; I turned and saw a large fist aiming for my face. Next thing I knew I was on the floor flat on my back with a bloody lip and aching jaw.
“Someone help!” Silvia, my assistant, wasn’t a match for anger.
Two security guards ran over, grabbed my patient by the arms; hauled him from the room kicking and flailing.
“Doctor Michael! Where’s my prescription?” My patient’s screams resonated in the corridor.
I pulled myself up and wiped my lip with a tissue. Since I won’t be having Mr. Daniels back, my Monday mornings were now free.
A very good microtale with layers.
Thank you, Perry.