Her nails tasted bitter and unclean, and she immediately regretted picking up her old habit. She quickly lowered her arm and rested it on the fabric of the chair.


The chair was old, and the leather was torn up and stained. It was sticky and hot
against her arm.


The wallpaper lining the edges of the small room was in the same condition, peeling and rotten. She could taste the sweat in the air.


Her watch said 4:12, the clock on the wall read 4:11 - there was still time.


She picked up a magazine from the nearby table and flipped through it aimlessly. After only a few seconds she tossed it back towards the table. She laced her fingers together and placed her hands firmly in her lap.


She could hear the ticking of the clock pounding in her ears and she shifted in her seat. She licked her lips and gazed at those around her. The other people were too calm,
sitting quietly, waiting.


The ticking of the clock was consistent, steady, everywhere, and she couldn’t block it out. She tried to concentrate on the wall.


Following the seams of the wallpaper, her gaze met the ceiling. It was a slight grey in most areas, with very few spots of white. The white areas were small and the grey seemed to be shrinking in on it. She watched as the colors began to move, grey overtaking white, until there was nothing left - it had never existed.



She got up suddenly and headed for the door. She grabbed the door knob and began twisting, her fingers slipping from the sweat.


She felt a sudden tap on her shoulder and spun around, nearly knocking the young woman down.


“The doctor will see you now, miss.”