No prompt this time, but I’m still sticking to the theme of waiting.
I like the idea of the story below, but I don’t think it’s quite fleshed out just yet. Luckily, that’s okay. This is more my mad scientist’s laboratory than my showroom. I’m not afraid to share stuff in a less-than-finished state in this space.
Also, you couldn’t possibly know it, but there’s an Easter egg in this story. One of the characters is from one of my unpublished books. I like to think that one day, after I’m a raving success, someone will track this random story down and freak out about it.
Hey, I can dream. But back to the story.
Even though it’s rough around the edges, I hope you enjoy it. And please, let me know what you think of it in the comments. Your suggestions are always welcome.
the waiting 4
It looks like any waiting room. Leather couches. A coffee table covered with magazines. A water cooler in the corner.
Who would drink the water here?, she wonders.
She wasn’t sure how to dress, so she’d gone with business casual. A basic blouse and slacks. No skirt. That just seemed wrong.
The receptionist greeted her with a smile, taking her name and inviting her to make herself comfortable like it was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe that was the intent. Make it all feel normal.
How many people made it this far only to leave? She wonders what might happen if she stood, even now, and made for the door. Would the receptionist let her walk out into the night, or would bars slam down, locking her in? Would there be sirens? Guards? Or perhaps something more savage?
It doesn’t matter. She has no intention of finding out. She is the lamb walking itself to the slaughter.
When her doctor broke the news six weeks prior, she felt the entire world slip from her grasp. One word can banish every inch of security you’ve carved out.
And that word. The big ‘C’. It’s a killer.
Poof. There goes the career. Her friends. Her fiancé. All of it.
Three months. Maybe six if she went all in on chemo. No thanks.
Instead, she decided to live while she could. To go out with a bang, not a whimper. She made the rounds, doling out I-love-you’s and positive vibes like they were Halloween candy. People would smile at her funeral, damn it.
And then she met Joshua.
Oh, he was a creepy fuck. He found her on a down night at a shit-hole little bar. She was nursing a double Jack and Coke in the corner when he slid into the seat opposite her.
“I can fix it.”
That was his first sentence. She was going to tell him to fuck off, but when she looked up his eyes were absolutely captivating. So she listened.
Their conversation ended when she set this appointment.
Now she waits. He’s behind the other door. She can feel him. It’s beyond comprehension, but she’s certain he’s almost ready for her.
Soon someone will call her name. She’ll rise and take her last human steps. He’ll ease her into a chair, coo over her for a bit, whisper her name, and then take her. Her life, her light, her cancer, all of her…
…and she will be reborn into the night.
It looks like any other waiting room. But it is not.