The reception area is vacant, save for another lady who has her nose deep in a holo issue of RUSSH. Beyond the reception desk, the receptionist is clicking his pen repeatedly. It is making me nervous. I suddenly miss the previous receptionist. She would offer hot chocolate. She was quieter and does not click her pen. This current receptionist does. Perhaps he is nervous too. He peers across the top of the desk in my direction. I quickly shift my gaze downwards. I am not familiar with him. My eyes are glued to the floor. The receptionist clicks his pen with more fervour, and I am now on my edge.
The clicking stops abruptly, followed by a shuffle of feet and the raspy voice of the receptionist announcing a name. It is not my name. There is a creak from behind me, and a pair of brown boots walks across the corner of my eyes towards the consultation room. It is the RUSSH lady. I hear a door open and close. Silence. I bask in this brief click-less moment and try to calm myself. I have been waiting longer than the lady but she gets called first. Perhaps avoiding the receptionist's eyes was a bad idea. The empty blue seats around me feel emptier than usual. I am sure I have sat on every seat here at least once. This place does not feel as welcoming as it claims to be. I come here two times a week because Mum said it will help me. So far it only makes me doubt myself.
END OF LOG
AWAITING VERIFICATION (9s)_
> verify
YOU ARE READING
TX-2033-LEEKNIGHT-1004-AM
Short StoryA grief-stricken mother relives the final days of her troubled daughter while attempting to preserve and restore data from her memory logs. *** In the midst of her divorce proceedings with her estranged husband, Helen raises their troubled daughter...
