by J Welch

She sits patiently in the waiting room, staring staight forward at some invisible object. Her eyes stare open and unblinking into space and her lower lip trembles slightly. Her arms are folded neatly in her lap and her legs are crossed at her ankles. Brown wisps of hair float around her head, a big messy bun planted on top. Her skin is porcelain, her cheeks are dusted in rose and her forehead is creased slightly in the middle. The tip of her nose and underneath her drooped eyes are red as tomatoes.

The chair she's sitting on is blue and spongey, peices of fluff littering the pillow. The floor is yellow and smooth, an attempt to make cheery atmosphere. The walls are white with vains of gold and blue running through it. The golden haired receptionist sits behind the desk, smacking her fingertips loudly on the keyboard in front of her. There is no one else in the waiting room, but talking can be heard softly from behind double doors.

They open slowly and a man in a crisp white lab coat walks out, a stephiscope draped around his neck. A taller man walks a step behind him, not really looking anywhere, yet looking everywhere at once. The women in the waiting room stands up and in what seems like slow motion, the doctor begins to talk to her. The taller man stays a step behind, hardly taking notice of the doctor, or the women in front of him who has her head in her hands, crying - sobbing soundlessly.

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