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The waiting room: a retrospective

Exploring why I wrote "The waiting room".

By Mat BarnsleyPublished about a year ago • 3 min read

Read the short story here: https://shopping-feedback.today/fiction/the-waiting-room-vu7d30ir4%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E%3Cstyle data-emotion-css="14azzlx-P">.css-14azzlx-P{font-family:Droid Serif,Georgia,Times New Roman,Times,serif;font-size:1.1875rem;-webkit-letter-spacing:0.01em;-moz-letter-spacing:0.01em;-ms-letter-spacing:0.01em;letter-spacing:0.01em;line-height:1.6;color:#1A1A1A;margin-top:32px;}

When I wrote "The Waiting Room," I wanted to explore not just the uncertainty of death, but the profound sadness, shock and trauma that accompanies the sudden loss of life, specifically in this story I wanted to explore the very sad, and very real occurrence of a school shooting. At first glance, the story appears to centre around a young girl, Clara, simply waiting for a routine doctor’s appointment. But I wanted to subtly layer in the true nature of the situation, letting it unfold slowly so the reader experiences the same creeping realization as Clara does.

From the beginning, there are hints that something is off. Clara clutches her stomach, her unease is palpable, but the reader doesn’t yet know why. The waiting room feels familiar yet somehow wrong—the ticking clock, the stillness, and the receptionist’s detached, almost robotic demeanour all contribute to an underlying tension. These details create a sense of disorientation, as though Clara is trapped in a place where time has warped, much like how trauma can distort one’s sense of reality.

The character of Mr. Hargrove, an elderly man in the waiting room, was meant to serve as both a comforting presence and a source of quiet dread. His comments about time slipping away and "things wearing down" seem innocuous at first, but his words take on much greater significance once the truth of Clara’s situation is revealed. His line, "There’s a lot of young ones in," initially feels like casual conversation, but in retrospect, it becomes a chilling acknowledgement of the number of victims affected by the shooting.

It was crucial for me that this line lands hard when the reader revisits it after the story’s twist. Mr. Hargrove isn’t talking about a typical busy day in a doctor’s office—he’s referencing the other young victims who, like Clara, have found themselves in this waiting room between life and death. His warm demeanour, while comforting, is tinged with a tragic awareness that Clara herself is unaware of. The weight of that statement is what makes the final reveal all the more devastating.

Clara’s realisation that she has a bullet wound in her stomach is the key turning point in the story. Up until that moment, the reader may still think this is simply a tense, mysterious wait for some medical news. But when Clara lifts her hand and sees the blood from the wound, the reality crashes down. Clara isn’t just waiting for an appointment—she’s a victim of a school shooting, and the waiting room isn’t in a doctor’s office; it’s a symbolic space, possibly the afterlife or the space between, where she and other victims linger.

This twist not only shifts the entire narrative but recontextualises everything Mr. Hargrove said. His words take on a sombre weight, as he likely understands what Clara does not yet grasp—she is one of many. The ticking clock, the growing hum, and the presence of other children all hint at the scale of the tragedy, but Clara’s innocence and confusion make it clear that she’s still in denial of what’s happened to her.

Ending the story with Clara’s trembling plea for her mother, "I want my mum," was especially important to me. By this point, the reader has realized the full extent of the tragedy—that Clara is a child whose life was cut short in a horrifying act of violence. Despite the surreal and otherworldly nature of the waiting room, Clara’s very human fear and desire for her mother bring the story back to its emotional core. She’s a young girl facing the unfathomable, and her final words are a heartbreaking reminder of her vulnerability.

In writing "The Waiting Room," I wanted to explore not just the shock of sudden violence, but the aftermath, the quiet moments where reality begins to sink in. The waiting room itself serves as a metaphor for the limbo these victims find themselves in, unsure of what comes next. The story is less about the act of violence and more about the disorienting experience of realizing, piece by piece, that life has changed—or ended—in an instant. Through Clara, I wanted to convey the confusion, the fear, and ultimately, the tragic loss of innocence that comes from being caught in the crossfire of such an event.

EssayNonfiction

About the Creator

Mat Barnsley

I strive to make sense of the world through writing. I break it apart, twist it, and bend it until it reflects new light. I invite you to see the world cast through my written stained-glass windows.

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