Tell Me How It Feels

Chapter Nineteen

A/N: Hey hey, so instead of revising for my many upcoming exams I instead write many many plans for the next lot of chapters. Oops, guess I picked the wrong time to actually start planning stuff. Anyway, so I reckon that this story will be finished at twenty-nine chapters... give or take a few. I'd love to write a sequel but, since I've haven't got many solid readers, I can't be sure that'll happen. 

So, what I'm saying is that if you read please please vote and comment on stuff you like, 'cause I really need it for my own sanity and I'm pretty rubbish at advertising :( 

Anyway, sorry for the ramble, but I really love how the italics look on the page. I'm also very sorry for the amount of speech in this chapter, I do love lengthy dialogue. It's not edited, and I'll proabably read over this tomorrow and want to change everything... oh well.

Oh the tackiness though...

Enjoy, Caysie. x

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Chapter Nineteen

The bright white walls of the corridors blinded Finlay as he followed the doctor down, what seemed like, the same areas over and over again. Artificial lights hung in large, metal swings above his head and emitted an awfully sickly glare across even the open space, and cast multiple the jerk and flip across the pristine plastic floor.

The woman in front kept a surprising distance, and Finlay trailed behind like a lost one, but she didn't even look back to see if he was still there. It was as if she was completely unaware that he was there at all. Then again, he was rather used of feeling invisible, for when he walked around the streets and shops in London everyone was so busy with their own lives that noone cast him a second glance. Except, of course, the odd fan that recognised him and only then he'd feel a happiness somewhere within him as he knew that, in someone's life, he was actually a somebody.

His thoughts were briefly stopped when the doctor came to an elevator. She stepped inside, and only then did she look around to Finlay and smile, waiting for him to follow inside. Once in, she gently pressed the button labeled for the third floor, and Finlay took to scanning the small poster stuck on the metal door as they shut.

The artwork was propaganda-like, it advertised flu jabs and how it would be better for everyone's health if they got vaccinated for the winter. The cartoon illustration showed a small boy coughing, which caused a green figure made of smoke to escape his mouth and travel to some nearby elderly people. The picture reminded him of when he was younger, of when him and Timothy first met, and he remonisced in the memory for the few moments it took to reach the floor.

In high school, Finlay had very little friends. He had been brought up by his parents listening to records  by and reading about obscure bands from the sixties, seventies and eighties. Because of this, his tastes had always been rather different to those around him, and when there was only two years left of school he lost tolerance for everyone that wasn't him. It wasn't selfish, he never intended to be, but when anyone had to group up for activities he'd stay by himself at the back and secretly scribble on anything he could.

It wasn't until a boy in the younger year approached him on a rainy winter's day in the school yard that he actually started to feel hope. Finlay was surprised as, apart from the smokers, he was the only student who came outside in the rain. The boy sat down beside him and introduced himself as Timothy Cowell. Finlay took his confident smile and large as misleading at first, but once Timothy asked him if he had listened to a recently released favourite album of his he abandoned his apprehension. It turned out that Timothy had heard some people talking about Finlay in his form class, slating him for being so different, and he realised that they weren't so different. Timothy had flu though, and sneezed after every few sentences. Finlay laughed for a while, but he caught it the day after their meeting, so Timothy and Finlay both never really got to know each other properly for a fortnight or so.