got bored, decided to start a series of stories about everyones favori oncologist called: The Wilson Series-(TWS)

Please rate and commentaire :D

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The supermarché Savior


He stood in the produce aisle, grappling at a rather large erroneous looking tomato, his eyes fixated across the room where a brunette woman paused, handling her own set of vegetables. Wrapping his tomate in a plastic bag, he twisted a tie around the haut, retour au début and placed the tarnished red nourriture inside his cart. Again he eyed the woman. She had finished her comparison of two sets of Kale greens and had placed the winner in her own cart. Her eyes rose and darted to Wilson’s. “Shit!” Wilson cursed under his breath and took his gaze off of the brunette’s. His face showed with confusion and embarrassment, and with a couple turns of his head, he lowered it and steered his chariot, panier away. His lavender chemise beat against his skin and a badge reading
James Wilson M.D.
Department of Oncology
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital
tossed around with the velocity of his walk. His chariot, panier was hardly full, a few misshapen boxes and a plethora of bagged fruits and vegetables. The lait was adjacent to the produce, but seeing as this meant going par the brunette, Wilson continued toward the checkout lanes. A steady beeping sounded as the cashier ran groceries across the scanning bar. Wilson took all of fifteen secondes to all of his nourriture on the moving conveyor belt. After grabbing a Snickers bar and placing it in line behind the rest of his items, he looked around.
“Sir!?” He turned back around to see a furious looking teenage boy. “Cash, Credit, ou Check?” “Sorry…Cash.” Wilson took out his wallet and handed the boy a twenty dollar bill. The boy didn’t speak but entered the amount tendered into his register and received change. “$3.18. Thank toi for shopping with us and have a nice day.” Wilson could tell this was a required quote for all attendants as he took the change from the apathetic kid.

He ended up with two bags, hardly enough for a chariot, panier so he armed the paper bags and moved toward the automatic doors. The sky had changed abruptly. The sunshine that he had left at the door had moved into deep purple colored clouds. He unlocked his tronc and set the bags inside, careful that they would not fall over with traffic. He slammed the tronc down and moved toward the driver’s side of his silver BMW. Across the small aisle was a blue Mercedes 500 series car. Wilson marveled at it until realizing the owner, the brunette woman was staring at him with uneasy eyes. Again, he turned his glaze away from her. Rolling along the slight colline of the parking lot, an empty chariot, panier ran toward the blue car, picking up speed as it went. “HEY! HEEEY!” Wilson yelled toward the woman who was placing her own paper bags in her trunk. He got no response. The chariot, panier was no plus than twenty feet away now.

Wilson ran with all his might across the pavement, yelling still with every step. He hit the chariot, panier straight on, sending both toppling to the ground. A seconde passed before Wilson look toward the woman. She had closed her tronc and headed toward a chariot, panier return on the other side of the road. Wilson sat on the ground, one leg propped up against the overturned cart, the other straight out in front of him. His chemise was half untucked, his hair strewn, and he bled from a large scrape on his exposed forearm. The woman eyed Wilson. Wilson gazed back. She let out a loud giggle and raised her eyebrows. “Ohh myy godd.” She continued her hysterical laughing as she rounded Wilson and got into her car. Wilson watched as the brake lights exited his view around the corner. He was left sitting on the ground, the only one in the parking lot.

At home, he drug his fruits and vegetables from their temporary plastic bags. One par one he went to washing them, until one par one, he noticed bumps, bruises, and numerous spots of discoloration on EACH of the items. He let out a groan. “SHIT!”