Miserable Mark was having a miserable day. It started after the movie matinee. That morning he was known simply as Mark. However, after stopping for a long lunch and then arriving home, he realized he’d left his favorite hat at the crowded theater. He loved that hat. He’d had it for years, and he liked the way he looked while wearing it – cool, calm, and collected.
When he realized it was missing, he became quite upset. He stormed around the house cursing and slamming drawers and doors. His wife Millie tried to console him, but to no avail. “I’m so angry,” said Mark. “I loved that hat. Life will never be the same.”
“We’ll get you a new hat, honey. That hat was worn out,” said Millie.
“The movie sucked. And I don’t want a new hat. I liked mine worn out. It was comfortable,” he pouted. He headed toward the backyard to sit in a chair with his arms folded.
On the way out, he slammed the kitchen door and caught his thumb in the jamb. It tore the nail loose and blood spilled out underneath turning his thumb purple. It throbbed and throbbed.
“Ow. That hurts,” he cursed. “Oh, why did it have to be the thumb and not the pinky? Why did it have to be on my right hand and not my left?” Millie wrapped it for him and gave him a bag of ice, as he sat sternly in his chair, unable to fold his arms. “I need an aspirin,” he grumbled. Millie went inside to fetch. She returned to the door.
“Aspirin bottle is empty. You’ll have to drive to the pharmacy,” she said.
“Oh, great,” said Mark. He reached into his right pocket for his keys, but his thumb hurt so badly, he dropped them and they fell between the porch planks and clattered into the dank dark recesses underneath. The only way to retrieve them would be to crawl 20 feet on his belly through cobwebs and foul pine needles.
“Arg,” said Mark. Millie slipped backwards into the house and slid the door shut so she wouldn’t have to hear the string of dirty words spilling from Mark’s mouth.
He began his crawl and a rusty screw tip caught the back of his shirt. It tore a gaping hole in the shoulder.
“Oh, man. That’s my favorite shirt!” screamed Mark.
He resumed his crawl and the same screw tore a slice through the flesh of his shoulder. Blood dripped from his neck. Reaching to feel the wound, Mark disturbed a nest of hornets having a peaceful existence beneath his floor boards. They flew out angry and stung Mark repeatedly as they buzzed up inside the tear in his shirt.
Mark began flailing about and scrambled out from under the deck. Doing so he twisted his back and the pain shot up his side and down his right leg. He fell over a lawn chair and broke his wrist on the concrete. “Millie!” he called. “Millie!!!”
She came running. She removed his shirt, bandaged his cut, removed the stingers, wrapped a bandage around his wrist, and fetched more ice. “Go to the car. I’ll get my set of keys. You’re going to the hospital.”
Mark hobbled to the driveway shirtless, covered in blood, his thumb, his cut, his stings, and his back all throbbed mightily. Millie emerged with keys and a clean shirt.
“I can’t put the shirt on. I hurt too much,” said Mark. So be it, shrugged Millie, and helped him into the passenger seat. She backed the car out and began the race across town. Blood oozed from Mark’s back wound and soaked into the white upholstery of their new Lincoln.
“For the love of…” said Mark.
“Drive faster,” he said, as a gentle rain began to fall. Millie obeyed and lost control of the vehicle on the wet pavement. She bounded down an embankment crashing into a tree, destroying the front grill and radiator. Mark climbed out of the car, slipped further down the embankment into the swollen river and was swept downstream. The rain intensified as he lost sight of Millie and the car.
He clambered ashore a mile on, slipping on the rocks and twisting an ankle. With great pain and suffering he inched his way to the top and stood on the bridge, torrents of rain pummeling his body. He raised his left fist in defiance and was struck by a bolt of lightning. It singed his hair and melted the flesh on the bottoms of his feet.
He collapsed into the roadway and was run over by a group of cyclists who rounded the bend from the hill behind them, unable to stop in time. Bikes and bodies flew in all directions, some over the railings into the river.
Police, ambulances, and a life-flight helicopter arrived on the scene. Everyone was rushed to County General. Mark underwent emergency surgery to have a kickstand removed from his abdomen. He lay in recovery, bandaged from head to toe. Pain was everywhere. His sight was blurry. His ears rang.
Millie sat in the chair beside him, holding his hand. “What the… How the…” mumbled Mark, barely conscious.
Millie’s cellphone rang. She answered it.
“Hello? Yes… I see… OK. Thank you. I’ll be down as soon as possible.”
Mark turned his stiff neck to gaze at her inquisitively.
“That was the movie theater,” she said. “They found your hat.”

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