The Waiting Room

Prologue 

Though small, it was a normal waiting room for all intents and purposes. Against one wall was seating for six, and centred on the wall was standard waiting room decor such as photography or a television. Across the room there was seating for four along a blank wall, beside a standard waiting room amenity such as a plant or magazine stand.

Four normal people waited, all wearing black; a girl of about seventeen, soaking wet from the shoulders down; a man in his late forties, wearing an expensive suit; a woman in her twenties, rocking a baby swaddled in white; and a boy of about thirteen, a cello case at his feet.

The Girl in Wet Clothes

The Girl in Wet Clothes was normal. She sat leaning against a wall, awake with her eyes closed. It wasn’t her usual therapist’s office, but she knew she was supposed to be there, and it was as comfortable as any therapist’s waiting room. She wasn’t sure when her appointment was, and wanted to stay awake in case she was called; to stay awake she made a game of the people around her, guessing why they were there.

On the far end of the long brown couch was a woman with a baby doll. There was no way a real infant would stay silent when being rocked as if on a small plane going through major turbulence. The Girl in Wet Clothes decided that her couch buddy was a grieving mother working with doll therapy. Across from the Woman with the Baby was a standard side table holding a tissue box and hand sanitizer. Beside it sat a man wearing a suit. He sat restlessly, bouncing his leg and looking at a bare wrist, only to stare at the art work hung across from him; he was definitely Hera for anger management. Directly across from the Girl in Wet Clothes was a boy with a cello case at his feet. He must have been working with music therapy.

She did a second scan and noticed the Man in the Suit staring at her; she felt very small. All of a sudden, she was very conscious of what she was wearing and how it might fit her body when wet. She brought her legs up to cover her upper body, but pain radiated down her forearms when she tried to hug her knees, so she planted her feet back on the floor and looked to the Woman with the Baby for help. She craned her neck and the mother finally met her eyes, only to turn away with hostility. The Girl in Wet Clothes took a deep breath and hugged her knees to her chest despite the hurt.

It couldn’t have been five minutes before the Man in the Suit kicked over the table, and hurled the sanitizer forcefully at the painting he had spent so long staring at. Shortly afterwards, strangers in grey appeared seemingly from out of nowhere, and promptly showed the man to an elevator that also seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere. He got inside and it began its descent. The Girl in Wet Clothes felt a wave of relief unwrapping her arms from around her knees. She put her feet on the ground and leaned against the wall again.

Next to go was the Woman with the Baby. Grey strangers were there, struggling to separate the woman and the doll. They called two elevators going in opposite directions. After putting up a fight, the woman’s elevator journeyed down while a grey stranger held the doll in a twin elevator set to go up. Having the whole couch to herself now, the Girl in Wet Clothes stretched out and decided she would try to get some sleep. Strangers would wake her up when it was her turn to go.

The Man in the Suit

The Man in the Suit was normal. He sat with his back straight on the shorter of the upholstered benches, beside the water cooler. He couldn’t say which of the many important office buildings he was in, but knew he must have been waiting for an important meeting; any meeting he was called to was important, as he was an Important Man. However, important men didn’t wait. Someone would be answering for this. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, habitually glancing down at his wrist, only to find the hands of his limited edition Rolex frozen. This left him no option but to stare at the analog clock centred on the wall across from him.

Without moving his head he glanced around the room at the others in the room. The company really was pathetic. There was a crackhead managing to keep her baby quiet despite the rollercoaster she was putting it through. He himself was sharing his bench with a pimply virgin and his guitar case. The Man in the Suit deserved more tastefully curated company.

However, a young woman sat on the longer bench; far from the crackhead and directly across from the virgin. The most pious eye could not stop itself from admiring the way her clothes clung to her body, showing off perfectly shaped breasts. The Man in the Suit enjoyed young women; they were eager to please and eager to learn and knew their place. As a bonus, this one looked like she could pass for eighteen. Suddenly, she hugged her legs up against her chest, blocking any view of her body. The man wondered who she thought she was to deny his gaze; it was a compliment, receiving attention from an Important Man. It didn’t matter, she was an ugly prude anyway and didn’t deserve his time.

Irritated, the Man in the Suit leaned over to fill a paper cup with water. He looked at his wrist, and then the clock. The minute hand seemed not to have moved in the slightest on the wall clock either. He was done waiting; important men didn’t wait. Whoever these people were should be grateful he sat down in the first place. Seeing that there wasn’t enough water to fill his cup, the Man in the Suit punched the water cooler hard, toppling it over. He scrunched the cup in his hand and threw it at the wall clock, as if it would speed up time.

The mistake of having him wait was quickly corrected, as an individual in grey emerged from some entrance he hadn’t noticed, and led him to an elevator that he also hadn’t previously seen. The Man in the Suit straightened out his attire and stepped into the elevator, head held high as the doors closed for his descent.

The Woman with the Baby

The Woman with the Baby was normal. A mother, grateful that her child wasn’t disturbing the others in the room. It wasn’t big enough to be an emergency room, but the seating was the same and posters on the wall described flu symptoms and promoted yearly check-ups. She wasn’t sure what she was doing there, as her baby had finally stopped crying.

The Woman with the Baby realized that if there was no medical reason for being there, she was being set up so that the government took take her child.She was a fit mother though, and refused to be separated from her baby. She subtly looked around at the people in the room. The Man in the Suit could be with Child Protective Services. She saw the Boy with the Cello giving her a disapproving look, as if there was no way she could provide for her baby. He was there to gather evidence, she was certain. There was no cello in the case, but microphones and cameras and the like to gather footage, along with other equipment needed for its alteration. The Girl in Wet Clothes also stared, almost desperately. She was a decoy though, meant to disarm her and give the Man in the Suit a chance to take her child; all while the Boy with the “Cello” collected evidence of her reaction to edit her as a villain. The Woman with the Baby held the infant closer to her chest and rocked faster. Her baby always stayed quiet when she rocked faster.

Suddenly, her attention snapped up, startled by noise at the vending machine. The Man in the Suit had rattled it so hard that some cans had fallen out, one of which he had sent flying towards the medical posters. The Woman with the Baby retreated into herself, hoping to become invisible by will power alone.

She was still breathing shallowly, trying her best to manifest invisibility for her and her child, when a staff member dressed in grey appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The stranger escorted the Man in the Suit to an elevator that she hadn’t realized was even there, lighting up the down arrow as he called on it. Soon, they came for her. The grey strangers pulled her up and one wrenched the sleeping baby from her arms, while another held her arms back. The Woman with the Baby kicked and screamed for her child, making the biggest scene that she could. The Boy with the Cello muttered to himself as if she wasn’t there, the Girl in Wet Clothes watched silently as the Woman with the Baby was violently shoved into the elevator taken previously by the Man in the Suit. Meanwhile, her sleeping baby was carried by a stranger to a separate elevator. She was certain there had never been any doctor’s appointment.

The Boy with the Cello 

The Boy with the Cello was normal. He wasn’t a stranger to the principal’s office, but there was something odd about the staff composites hanging on the wall across from him, as if he both could and couldn’t remember the names and faces in the frame. As per social norms, he was there because he’d done something bad. Whatever he had done had been extremely satisfying, but society’s limited moral definitions confined his brilliance.The others in the room didn’t particularly matter, filler characters in his life. But he wondered about them to kill time. 

The Girl in Wet Clothes looked like a bitch from his high school who had recently committed suicide. The Boy with the Cello found it infuriating. All of the senior sluts were his to take, her most of all. He would make her regret every refusal; to dance, to watch a movie, to be with him forever. She was a piece of shit to be scraped off his shoe. The Woman with the Baby was obviously a whore. She would fail her child as the world had failed him. At least if the baby was a boy she would have contributed something to the world. The Man in the Suit was different though. He radiated success, and just by looking at him it was obvious that he knew what a real man was. The Boy with the Cello admired the Man in the Suit. He was purposeful and knew how to command a room. He knew how to be important, as real men should. 

Folding forward to put his head in his hands, the Boy with the Cello reminded himself of his purpose. Society was failing and needed to be cleansed of the sluts and whores and inferior men who couldn’t recognize his genius. He was to usher in a new era, in which his bravery and efforts would be lauded throughout modern history. Statues would be erected in his image, and buildings would be named after him to honour his superiority.

He looked up to see the Man in the Suit knocking over the lost and found, whipping a loose hat at the composites on the wall. The Boy with the Cello was stunned. This man, who he had painted as a real man, was proving himself. Real men wouldn’t wait, they would be waited on. He stared in awe, watching the Man in the Suit take what he wanted. The Boy with the Cello decided he would take what he wanted. Sure enough, the Man in the Suit was soon shown to an elevator which descended towards where he was supposed to be.

The Boy with the Cello considered the elevator for a moment, and determined it was not normal. He had assessed the room earlier, before but had somehow missed it. The Boy with the Cello didn’t miss things. Soon the strangers came for the Woman with the Baby. He chuckled to himself as they were separated, the woman wailing with despair. Stupid slut.

When the strangers came for him he was ready. He picked up his cello eagerly, making a rattling sound as he made his way towards the elevator. Before descending, the Boy with the Cello took one last look at the Girl in Wet Clothes, still asleep on the bench. With a wicked smile, he raised an outstretched arm ending in a finger gun, and feigned a kill shot to her head. The thought kept him smiling as the doors closed.

Epilogue 

Though small, it was a normal waiting room for all intents and purposes. Against one wall was seating for six, and centred was standard waiting room decor such as artwork or a wall clock. Across the room there was seating for four along a blank wall, beside a standard waiting room amenity such as a water cooler or vending machine.

Four normal people waited, all wearing white; a woman in a burka, head bowed; a boy of around five, holding a soccer ball and swinging his legs; an elderly man wearing a herringbone hat; and a handsome woman in her early thirties.