The Waiting Room Play Novels & Stories

It was a waiting area, so I sat and waited "Ma'am. You are up next" I looked up at the man standing just outside another door in the waiting room. I stood up and went after him, getting nervous now that I was about to face the final judgement of my trials. I turned back just in time to see a beat up and bleeding player being led into the waiting room by the same girls. Everything was in sequence. My wolf's growl became persistent, and it was because that heady combination of Alpha maleness I had perceived when walking through earlier was getting even more stronger as I followed the man a short distance to another room.

I tell her feeling my cheeks heat in embarrassment. She chuckles. “Yes. No reason to be embarrassed. If you go in there through the packhouse it gets confusing.” She linked her arm through mine and led the way. We went down hallways and through doors I never would have guessed. This is definitely confusing. We make it to a set of double doors and she pushes on them. We enter a white sterile hallway that I know belongs to the infirmary. We walk a little ways further and turn a corner into an open waiting room area. I see Dev, Dawn, Evan, Blake, Nora and Bailey all sitting on the chairs waiting to hear from the doctor. We walk up and I sit in the empty chair next to Bailey and wrap my arms aro

And somehow, of all places, I ran into him in Chicago. And now he was right there—at the end of that hallway. I crouched in the corner, staring at the sliver of light creeping through the crack under the door. People passed by outside: footsteps, murmurs, the scratch of walkie-talkies. Then a voice cut through—lazy, unhurried, with that slight upward tilt at the end. "The West Side accounts don't add up. Who reviewed them?" "Don, that was me... I'll redo them right away."

Nothing more. The waiting room was tucked at the end of a quiet corridor, far enough from the main hospital wing that the noise of the day faded into a low hum behind me. A soft instrumental version of some pop song played from hidden speakers, meant to calm the nerves of the women sitting around me. It didn't calm me. I glanced at the clock, then at the door, then back at the clock again, unable to settle on anything for more than a few seconds at a time.

Chapter 51: Vigil Liora's POV The waiting room emptied and filled and emptied again the way waiting rooms did at 3AM. People came in with fear on their faces and left with either relief or something worse and the fluorescent lights stayed constant through all of it, indifferent to what happened underneath them. Liora stayed in her chair. Margaret stayed in hers. They hadn't spoken since the introduction. Just sat across from each other in the silence of two people who had assessed the situation and decided that whatever needed to be said could wait until there was something to say it about.

"You're protecting her now. By being here. By waiting for her. By loving her no matter what." Time continued its slow march. Charlotte finished nursing and fell asleep in my arms. Calloway got us water from a vending machine. Coffee for Marcus. Other families came and went. Some receiving good news. Others not. The waiting room was a purgatory where hope and despair existed in equal measure. "Mr. Brooks?" We all looked up. A surgeon stood in the doorway. Still in scrubs. Tired. But not devastated. Not devastated meant good news. It had to.

The waiting room felt like a frozen clock; white walls, antiseptic smell, muted footsteps echoing down tiled halls. Thea sat on one of the cold metal chairs, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes were red from crying, but no more tears would come. Arian stood near the window, his arms folded as he stared out at the gray morning. The rain had just started like the sky itself was mourning. Celine was gone. And they were waiting for her death certificate to be handed over and her body placed in a casket..

Alexander sits in the waiting room with his hands clasped so tightly his fingers ache. The room is deliberately neutral soft gray walls, abstract art that means nothing, a low table stacked with magazines he has no intention of reading. There are no mirrors. No glass. No observation point. No control. He hadn’t realized how much that absence would unsettle him. Across from him, a woman in her forties flips through her phone. A man near the window stares at nothing in particular. No one recognizes him. No one cares who he is.

the stranger said but when he started to move away, Olliver grabbed his arm and whined, "Skaiii..wait ten minutes?" The stranger jutted his chin out, "You have five.." Olliver smiled and turned to move back to the experiment and that is when he noticed Smith standing there slack-jawed. "Oh pick up your jaw Smithson. This is not a theatre and a fly might just go into your mouth!"

Lydia ran beside the gurney. Adrian walked on the other side. Noah turned his head slightly. “This feels dramatic enough for you?” Lydia sob-laughed. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t.” “Not now.” “Fair.” They disappeared through imaging doors. *** Waiting rooms distort time. Minutes became elastic. Monitors beeped behind closed doors. Staff moved in efficient silence. Lydia paced until she nearly collapsed. Adrian finally caught her wrist. “Sit.” “No.” “You’re shaking.”