The Secret Unwritten Diary of Mr. Thumbs
by RRP


I awoke from the dream (or nightmare, rather) drenched in sweat, and panting. Images continued to flash through my mind, and I attempted in vain to push them away. I sat up in the crummy motel bed, and looked around.

First things first- I turned the lamp on. Light helps. A pounding in my head and a dull aching in my thumb pushed me further towards the brink of depression, so I stood up and grabbed a glass of water. Well, I tried to.

It’s not quite that simple or easy anymore. I first tried to grab a glass with my left hand, momentarily forgetting. It still happens, sometimes. I forget that my thumb just isn’t there anymore. Especially when I’m tired.

So, I try to pick it up and the stupid thing slips out of my hand. I look down at the floor, and moan. Shattered glass, little tiny slivers of torture, lie about on the carpet, covered in crimson liquid. Blood. I stare dumbly at the stub for a brief second, as it hits me that it’s bleeding again.

So, I jump over the glass, and slide into the bathroom- running into the door, the wall, and the sink counter along the way. Hey, I said I was tired. Give a thumbless guy a break! My mind’s getting foggy, too. Probably from lack of blood. I should have noticed sooner, but when you constantly wake up surrounded by sticky gunk, you get used to the feeling and don’t notice as much.

I wrap a motel towel around my hand, and sit down on the toilet (the lid was down, of course). My whole arm is pretty much drenched in blood, and I realize mournfully that I’ll have to take yet another shower. Don’t get me wrong! I enjoy a good, hot shower. Once a day. But it’s gotten to the point where I’m taking three or four a day, and frankly, I’m getting tired of all the water.

So, (I’m using that word a lot. I need to stop.) I sigh, and turn on the shower faucet. I take off my shirt, with some difficulty (I’m only using one hand), and stick my arm into the stream of water. I’m too tired to get all the way in. After a couple minutes, I take my arm back out, and quickly dry it off before wrapping my hand again. The water certainly didn’t help the pain, and the towel isn’t doing any wonders either. The whole thing is getting annoying.

Half-an-hour later, I’ve got a new shirt on, I’ve stripped the bed sheets, attempted to comb my hair, and I finally can stand up without feeling dizzy. I guess I just gradually adjust to the loss of blood. I need to get a transfusion soon, or the thumb alone is going to kill me.

I pick up a standard, yellow legal tablet and a hotel pen, and sit down to practice. That must be the worst part about losing my left thumb- I can’t write anymore. Fluently, that is. I’ve been teaching myself to write with my right hand, and it’s not exactly easy. My handwriting still looks like some kindergartner’s. Ahh, well. I’m working on it.

It’s a while before I look at the clock. I finally looked up because my right hand was cramping. Ouch. It’s finally seven AM, a decent hour to call and…it hits me, once again.

Unlike many hotels I’ve been in, motels like these don’t offer room service. I’ve got to wrap my hand in an ace bandage, and go all the way to the nearest fast food restaurant. Not exactly my choice food source, but I can’t afford to eat at fancier places right now. Don’t have the money, or the time. Not to mention I look like some hobo. They’d never let me in.

Oh, joy. McDee’s, here I come.

The Secret Unwritten Diary of Mr. Thumbs
by RRP


Okay, I admit it. I’m tired, I’m not feeling too great, and I’m bored. Beyond bored. Someone told me once that you can’t actually die of boredom, but you can die bored. It’s slowly happening- I can feel my mind slipping.

Maybe I need to change my diet. All that grease cannot be good for me, not to mention the salt. Good lord! I’ve nearly forgotten what a real fish filet tastes like, and I live in Blue Cove! Or used to, anyway.

I should get in touch with Jarod. But, I can’t just send an email saying, “Hey, Jarod! Why don’t you stop by for a cup of coffee?”. There’s no way, even with his lack of common sense, he would fall for that. Maybe I could stage something from Sydney…that might work.

Something more…

I know! I can bury someone in the desert! Oh shoot…I’m laughing now…I’ve lost it…I’m insane…Look, I’m laughing harder! Great. This can’t be good.

But anyway, I’ve always wanted to bury someone in the desert. I think that would be fun. Why not?

I just noticed, there’s an incredibly hot girl not twenty feet from me in the parking lot, and she’s looking at me funny. Oh well. (I’m laughing again…I don’t feel any connection with reality…my mind is gone…and I think it’s funny)

Oh, darn…She’s driving away.

Let’s go bury someone, shall we?

Mental list of needed items: shovel, generator, oxygen pumps, land, place to stay, someone to kidnap…it goes on and on. Careful planning is need for such a dangerous and highly complicated mission. (I’m grinning and humming the Mission Impossible theme song. This cannot be a good thing.)

I pull out a roadmap, from the glove box of the car I managed to buy, and scan the cities and possible locations. My eyes fall on what looks like a rather small town- no more than a dot on the map. Red Rock, Arizona. Red rock? Red…blood…sounds perfect, eh?

I love the way I reason. My logic is so infallible it hardly makes sense! (Laughing again…darn.) Dum dum da dum…



Two months later…

Ouch. Ouchouchouchouchouch. My thumb? Oh yeah. My stomach? Yep, that too. My arm? Damn. The idiot ‘look, I’m a hero’ little brother of Jarod’s just had to shoot me in the arm. Ouch, again.

I think I killed him, too. Didn’t stay long enough to find out. Oh, well. Can’t laugh, it hurts my stomach, but I will later. It was kinda funny, actually. Remorse? I’m blinking. What’s that? Guilt? Oh, a bit. But that will pass, don’t worry. It only lasts as long as you care. Care left with my thumb.

I really think life should come with a warning, as the following:

Caution: May Cause Stress. Side effects include: Too numerous to list here. Please see life.com for full list. Death always occurs. See inside package for further details, tax applies in all areas, only valid where legal.

Okay, so it is stupid. But I’m bored again, and it’s the best I could do. My arm hurts. I wonder if I can hustle some morphine out of a drug dealer…where to find one, though? My stomach hurts too. I think I just saw Jarod go by on a bus. Who cares? Is that Miss Parker stepping out of that Lincoln across the street? Time to make myself scarce…now my head hurts. Ouch.