Chapter Two: The Fright Zone

After a few hours of feverish typing had gone by, Marge found herself facing a bit of a creative drought.

She had nothing to really say other than vent about the usual domestic squabbles she and her whole family got into on a routine basis. She didn't know how to channel that routine into something that made compelling viewing for a medical drama.

She considered writing about a boy suffering from a crushed larynx at the hands of an abusive father, but she wondered if that would force her to face an all too harsher reality.

The front door opened, the kids entered. Bart was trying to get a wad of chewing gum out of Lisa's hair. Not the first time that's happened to her either.

It wasn't a medical matter she could draw strength from. It was a repeat performance of a long played out manuscript of life, and there was enough at that being played out on television.

Homer followed them in, he looked less animated, long in the face, and breathing a little more laboured than was considered regular.

Marge had felt slightly winded herself lately, she had attributed it to extensive housecleaning, but something in the back of her head suddenly tried connecting it to Homer.

"H.I"

"Why say hi in initials?" Marge said.

"Hamburger. Intake" said Homer, requesting that he needed fed and quickly.

Marge sighed and put together his meal.

The creative writing contest still weighing heavily on her mind all through dinner and right through to very late evening where she would put the kids to bed and snuggle up next to her husband in the comfort of their own.

Homer noticed the manuscript on top of the dresser; Marge climbed into bed, put on her reading glasses and skimmed over a few pages.

"What in bill on capitol hill are you reading?" Homer asked.

"What in SAM hill Homer" Marge corrected him.

"You're reading a script, you've been bitten by the Hollywood bug, that's prime capital, my wording is justified" Homer spoke in his defence, somehow missing the phrasing difference between capital and capitol.

"Relax, I'm entering a competition for Medical Matters, if we win we can all take a big trip somewhere, I just can't figure out a convincing hook for my story though. When was the last time we had a big medical scare?"

"Oh I get it, you found the letters and this is the grand ol' intervention of New York".

"York, Homer, just York" Marge corrected him.

Homer huffed, folded his arms, and looked away.

"Homer, I wasn't going to press the issue tonight, I figured you were there today and that's why you were able to pick the kids up from school"

"Well, the issue's firmly pressed, so you might as well print it" Homer snarked, staring at the window and realizing he'd forgotten to close it. This being summer, not even a warm breath could silence the chill in his soul.

"Homer, tell me what's going on?" Marge said.

"Working in the plant lately has given me something the doctors say they can't get rid of. Cancer Marge, the Big C. No dancer, no prance, but CANCER. I have it, and they told me I might not be the only one with it"

"How do you figure?" Marge asked

"I kind of let it slip you worked at the plant for a time, they want you to come in and get checked"

"What about the kids?" Marge said, panic gripping her voice.

"How are they involved?" Homer asked.

"Bring your son and-or-daughter to work day"

"AAHH" Homer yelled.

"Homie?" said Marge.

"What?" said Homer as he tried turning over.

Marge looked into his eyes with a dour expression; she put his hand in his and trembled

"Marge, you're shaking" Homer noted.

"I'm scared" said Marge.

Homer gathered her up in his arms and they embraced.