Fixed

Chapter 1

The lights in the hospital flicker every few seconds causing a mild headache to form around where my temples lay. Scents of disinfectants and medicine fill my nostrils with every ragged breath I take, generating a small sneeze to escape my mouth.

Dirty brown chairs are scattered among this off-white room with fake linoleum floors that remind me of the color of wall insulation. Small, high up windows sprawl darkness on the nasty floors in splotchy patches and make the room darker than it already is. Its quite a depressing room; even more depressing than a downtown hospital waiting room should be and I sit with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me "Hey, maybe you should leave. This doesn't seem like a very welcoming place." I really wish I could leave, but if I did, someone would catch me, or the city officials would hunt me down.

The ache in my forehead worsens.

My rapid-paced heartbeat quickens, and I sink back in the flattened, lumpy hospital chair. Wafts of unbearable amounts of alcohol surround me, spreading into my nose, making my head pound even more. There's not much I can do about it; all I have to do is get the test over with, then I'll be able to leave this fume-filled building - if I ever get it done. There are probably 15 or 16 people ahead of me who actually need medical assistance, and here I am, sitting in the middle of a mist of germs and infections, waiting to see if the city will accept for what runs in my veins.

Blood.

A nurse with loud heels comes striding out from behind her metal desk and stands in front of one of the darkest hallways I imagine this hospital has. "Lela Atwood," she announces, saying my name like I'm her long-time nemesis. "Please follow me to the testing room."

I can already tell that she's going to be a pain in the neck to me.

Grabbing the handles of the chair, I boost myself up onto my feet. The hospital waiting room tilts back and forth around me and the flickering lights twinkle like stars. The sight is almost soothing, but the thought of a hospital with dying light bulbs - which clearly don't seem to be much of a concern to the staff - doesn't make me feel so excited about the testing I'm having done. I blink a few times and everything steadies. Even though I feel a little better now that I've stood up, I'm still extremely on-edge about everything that's about to take place.

The nurse gives me an impatient glare, and I rush over to her side, trying not to make it all that obvious that I was stalling.

As I wander down the hall behind this rude nurse I notice that the lights seem to be on, but look as though they're a lot dimmer than they were when they were new. You'd think that a hospital would be bright and kept up to date; this one clearly has different ways of going about business. "Where are we going?" I ask the nurse, who is clickety-clacking her way down the dim hallway.

She turns her head and squints at me. "The testing room, Shouldn't you know that?" Again with the agitated behavior. Did I accidentally do something to make you so pissy?

"I-I don't know." I scratch the back of my neck in nervousness as the hallway gets darker and darker. A less familiar smell drifts into my nose and the shiny floors turn rough with grit. With each step, I barely take my feet on the ground. Maybe my feet will get stuck to this grimy floor, then, possibly, I won't have to get tested.

"Don't drag your feet," the nurse commands. "You'll stir up dust."

Never mind.

My throat becomes itchy and I feel a pounding in the back of my head once again. If I continue to be this nervous, I might collapse. That would be the perfect reason for this LPN to get angry with me.

The awful nurse stops unexpectedly in front of a large titanium-looking door. I'm caught off guard at the sight of this massive entrance which looks like one you'd find in a bank protecting the vault from intruders. Where do you even find doors like this anymore?