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Literature Text
Maybe you're sitting on the examination table waiting for your doctor to arrive with the results of your urine sample. You've come in from an August afternoon. It was a hot, humid, and sunny day outside. However once you walked through the doors of the office everything seemed to change. All signs of nature have vanished. The walls are starchy, and cold. Everything is cold. Nothing is comforting. There is only the sound of silence. You swing your legs back and forth watching the clock tick-tick-tick. It's repetitive motion makes it seem like time is dragging on. Minutes pass but minutes seem like hours. You weren't nervous before but now you sweating because it seems as if it has taken at least a half an hour for the doctor to return with the results of your urine sample. You start to question yourself. The room shrinks. 'Is there something wrong with me?' You look around. There are no signs of comfort, only medical posters on the walls of creepy skinless people staring at you. The room is cold, and the air is dry. The world has stopped moving around you. You shift your weight awkwardly on the crinkly white paper that overs the table. It rips. Maybe you feel bad, or maybe you relax at the sound of something other than your own mind running through air. The florescent lights flicker and shutter. All of your nerves stand on end because everything is white, and cold, and sanitized, and orderly, and flawless. You start to panic. Suddenly, there is a knock.
It's always exactly two before someone enters. It is never enough time to do much. It's a half-hearted attempt to let you know someone is coming so they can avoid a lawsuit of running in on people doing whatever to avoid going insane in the doctor's office.
The doctor shuffles in. The door shuts slowly behind him with a click. The doctor sits on the 'doctor's chair' which always is a spinning stool. It always releases a puff of air into the room when he sits. He's holding a folder, your folder. His coat is white, his face emotionless. He sighs. Still, there is no comfort. It is a professional matter now, but the atmosphere doesn't change. 'You're test came back normal.' he said emotionlessly.
You suddenly relax and the room expands. You slide down from the table accompanied by the ripping and crinkling of the paper sheet, your feet tap down on the cold tile floor. You get up, and you leave the chamber; heading back into the real world.
It's always exactly two before someone enters. It is never enough time to do much. It's a half-hearted attempt to let you know someone is coming so they can avoid a lawsuit of running in on people doing whatever to avoid going insane in the doctor's office.
The doctor shuffles in. The door shuts slowly behind him with a click. The doctor sits on the 'doctor's chair' which always is a spinning stool. It always releases a puff of air into the room when he sits. He's holding a folder, your folder. His coat is white, his face emotionless. He sighs. Still, there is no comfort. It is a professional matter now, but the atmosphere doesn't change. 'You're test came back normal.' he said emotionlessly.
You suddenly relax and the room expands. You slide down from the table accompanied by the ripping and crinkling of the paper sheet, your feet tap down on the cold tile floor. You get up, and you leave the chamber; heading back into the real world.
This piece was squirreled away in my writers journal. I wrote it to portray tension throughout the work.
Nobody really likes waiting for the doctor :c
The Office (c) :the-wanderings:
Nobody really likes waiting for the doctor :c
The Office (c) :the-wanderings:
© 2012 - 2024 the-wanderings
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