Hotel California: Surgeons Need Not Apply

 Peeling green paint covers the walls. The lights are dim.” Hotel California”plays on the Budget Motel Inn’s lobby speaker’s. I watch the manager, with a receding hairline, smash the roach on the counter. He doesn’t even bother to wipe it off when I approach.

I fight the urge to run.

“I need a room for the night.”

“That’s what they all say, Hon.” Most are gone within the hour. As long as you pay, I don’t care what you do.”

“I’m just here to sleep, nothing else.”

“Won’t happen.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Sassy, I like that in a woman.”

Joe, according to the metal name tag, took my credit card. I make a mental note to check my bank account in the morning.

Joe smirks, as he hands me room key number thirteen . I roll my eyes.  I stopped being superstitious when I was twelve . On my way to Lucky 13, multiple dead plants line my way. When I enter my home for the night, my stomach hurls.

The carpet has multiple stains. The bed-spread, that used to be white, was now a dingy yellow. All that is needed now is for Jack Nicholson to barge in and yell, “Heeere’s Johnny.”

Before leaving the lobby, Joe informs me that there are soft drinks in the mini fridge (the only accommodations as far as I can tell). I remove a Pepsi, unscrew the top and drink.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

But, I do remember waking up surrounded by ice. I was no longer in the Budget Motel Inn. The cut-glass chandelier that hangs from the bathroom ceiling in this room probably cost more than all of their furnishings combined in the motel that I had previously occupied. No, definitely not the Budget Inn.

Sharp pains shoot through the left side of my back. My hand grazes a row of stitches about two inches long, where the pain originates from. I struggle to move.  In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of a cell phone. On the phone is a pink post it note that reads, Dial 911. So nice of my abductors to be so accomodating.

I bite my lip reaching for the flip phone. With no hesitation at all, I dial 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I think someone has stolen one of my kidneys.”


Music is an integral part of my life. I was pondering where today’s inspiration should come from, and I thought about Hotel California. While the story in the song Hotel California, is memorable, it has always creeped me out. Moving past the creepy, I decided that I would give it a try. This is the result. I never saw the end coming.


Just incase you wanted to know-Stolen black market kidneys are Urban Legend. There remains little evidence to prove such illegal activities exist.


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