The Waiting Room

Skye never had the best life. All she ever wanted was to die, but now she has the choice, is it really that simple?


4. Realisation

I'm walking fast down the hallway, but G is slowly catching up. The hallway is like everything else in this place: white, simple, plain and bright. Other than the sound of our footsteps and G constantly saying my name, it is completely silent. Like something out of a horror film, just predominantly white instead of black.

"Skye, stop," G's voice is loud but still he gives off an effortless aura of calm and welcoming, "Skye, wait for me."

He's managed to catch up and he grabs my arm. It's not like the other times people have grabbed me. Bryan used to use his heavy hands like he was trying to crush all the bones in my arm, or at least rip it out of it's socket. But, no. G's touch is soft and friendly, like something I can only remember my father doing. I want to pull away from him but he seems to know this and drops my limp arm anyway.

"Sorry, I forgot," he calmly apologises.

"Forgot what?"

"You don't like being touched," he says, "Remember, I know everything about you. Every time a man, other than your father, has touched you it's always been to hurt you. And I don't want you to feel threatened, so I'm sorry that I grabbed your arm, it was a mistake."

No one has ever apologised to me before and I am at a loss to what I should do. So I shrug and pretend not to care, like I wasn't scared that this time the bruises might never go. G just looks at me. I know he expects me to say something, but I don't know what. I just want to go to sleep. Then it hits me.

This must be a dream.

Is any of this actually possible? Of course not. If it was then scientists would've proved it long before now. G is just a figment of my imagination. I'll wake up in the morning and I'll still be at Bryan and Michelle's. He'll be hovering over me, ready to give me my "Good Morning" slap in the face and I'll just get on with the rest of my miserable existence.

So I just laugh in his face and carry on walking. No, running. Until I finally reach the end of the corridor and one final door. Naturally I open it and find myself in a room full of other people in the same white robes I am wearing and others in the same suits that G has. And my English teacher said I had "no imagination".

G comes up behind me. "This is the rec room," he says, "Go and meet some new people."

Then he shuts the door and leaves.


I must say, for a figment of my imagination, this is all starting to get realer and realer and I'm starting to doubt my previous conclusion. I'm sat at a table with an old lady and she's telling me about how much she misses her children and grandchildren. Mabel, I think her name is, and, to be fair to her, she is actually pretty interesting.

"...And little Shiloh, oh, he was the cutest thing," she goes on. So far, I've heard about her three children, Sonia, Robert and Adam, and four of her seven grandchildren. Seems to me like I created her to show me how I wanted to have lived. "But that's enough for today. I'm going back to my room."

"Thank you, Mabel," I say for pretty much the first time in my life, "I've really enjoyed your company."

She looks at me with a friendly smile and hobbles of, still with the use of an old wooden cane.

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