Member-only story
The Waiting Room
He took a seat, only vaguely hearing the end of the tall man’s sentence (“… with you shortly”), before the door shut. He stared blankly ahead, trying to block out the sound of screaming and struggle from the next room.
He cast a glance around the sterile, soulless room. Florescent lights burned his retinas, and all around him were ominous posters, featuring gleaming white, pointed teeth that seemed to protrude from the paper, as if to taunt him.
He wondered briefly how it was he got to be there — what events in his life led him to this room. Could he have done things differently, could this have been avoided? He didn’t think he had done anything so terribly bad that he deserved this fate — sure, he had forgotten a few birthdays, and he had stood up that girl on a date last summer, but fate wasn’t concerned with such trivialities, surely? Of course, it was pointless to think about now; there was nothing to be done but accept his fate.
Unless ….
He got up from the plush, leather chair and strode over to the window and looked down onto the street below. It wasn’t too far a drop — perhaps seven or eight feet. Alright, so he might break a leg or two, but would that be such a terrible price to pay? Deciding it wasn’t, he reached out and gave the window frame a tug.
