The Waiting Room Play 소설 & 이야기

He held hers back in the way he held things that mattered, with the full settled weight of him, not performing the holding, just holding. The waiting room had four other people in it and a television mounted in the corner playing something with the sound off. The chairs were the standard chairs, plastic and institutional, the same chairs that appeared in waiting rooms all over the country as though there had been a single procurement decision made about waiting rooms somewhere in the 1980s and no one had revisited it since. She had a specific

"Mr. Johnson, who's Mr. Rivera asking you to check on? Maybe I know them." "Oh, right. You're all from Walden College. It's a woman whose name is Rowena Colson." He even helpfully flipped the printed photo over for me to see. The young woman in the image wore a pale layer of powder, but a dark birthmark clung to her skin like a monstrous claw, impossible to ignore. Ewan was looking for me! The thought lodged in my chest like a thorn, making me increasingly uneasy. So, when I was called into Ewan's office the following noon, I was still a little out of it. While I made his coffee, I could feel the chill in his gaze, threaded with heavy scrutiny.

A critic sees it as a poorly paced play with too many extras and not enough focus on the exits. I waited until we reached the transition corridor, the "no man’s land" between intake and the cells. It was a narrow hallway with a heavy door at the end that required a keycard. "Wait," I said, stumbling slightly. "What now?" "I think I’m going to be sick. The adrenaline... and the snow..." I leaned against the wall, making my breathing shallow and ragged. I looked pale, which wasn't hard to do considering I’d been freezing on a mountain an hour ago.

The receptionist suggested. "I don't have his contact,but can I wait for him at the waiting room?"Mrs Seth asked. "If you want to wait,then you are free ma'am.i would call someone to take you to our waiting room."The receptionist answered. "Okay,"Mrs Seth said and just then the person who she was waiting for arrived. "Ohh.here he is ma'am"The receptionist Announced. "Who?"Mrs Seth asked. "The guy at Room 206"The receptionist answered and Mrs Seth turned back and saw him.

The waiting room is cold. White walls. Fluorescent lights that hum and flicker, casting a sickly pallor on everything. The smell of antiseptic burns my nose, sharp and clinical, mixed with the faint undertone of coffee from the vending machine. The chairs are plastic, hard, arranged in rows facing a television that plays the news on mute. I see our faces on the screen. Headlines scroll across the bottom. Preston Family Scandal. Attempted Murder. Doctor Targeted.

I crossed the lobby to the reception desk and gave my name. The receptionist typed something, checked her screen, gave me a small nod. "Please take a seat. He'll be with you shortly." I sat in one of the plastic chairs along the wall and put my bag on my knees and folded my hands on top of it. The waiting room was half full. A woman across from me with a small child who was drawing something on the back of a leaflet, his tongue pressed between his lips in concentration. An older man in the corner with his eyes closed, either sleeping or simply resting.

sat in the room with me with the particular, patient quality of something that had been waiting and was not going to stop waiting. Was I protecting myself? Or was I punishing him for the crime of another? The silence offered no answer. Neither did the ceiling

“They’re doing everything they can.” Lily swayed. Aaron’s arm came around her waist instantly, firm and unyielding, holding her upright as the world tilted dangerously. “Can we see her?” Lily asked desperately. “I’m afraid not right now,” the nurse said. “You’ll need to wait here. A doctor will update you as soon as the surgery is complete.” Wait. The word felt cruel. They were directed to the waiting area, a wide room lined with identical plastic chairs that offered no comfort and no privacy. Lily sat stiffly, hands clenched in her lap, eyes locked on the double doors at the far end of the corridor.

I sign my name. Return the clipboard to the receptionist. “Perfect.” She files the papers. “Please have a seat. Someone will call you shortly.” I look around the waiting room and see that it has three other people seated. A woman about my age, flipping through a magazine. An older man in a business suit, checking his phone. A younger guy who looks nervous, bouncing his knee. I wonder what packages they’ve booked. What fantasies they’re here to explore. None of us make eye contact.

(Natasha) The waiting room has stopped feeling like a room and started feeling like a pressure chamber. Plastic chairs. Bad coffee. Too many expensive coats thrown over the backs of seats. Too many people pretending not to watch one another while listening to every change in breathing from the corridor outside the NICU. Nathanial is standing by the window with his phone in his hand and no attention on it whatsoever. Mason is leaning against the wall near the coffee machine, talking quietly to Gloria.