The Platfrom

How on earth do people get themeselves into really awkward situations?

 

  

The Platform Chapter 3: How on earth do people get themeselves into really awkward situations? 

The scientific surroundings around the wards on this New Years eve in the hospital, decorated with the essence of christmas decorations passing their sell by date, seemed quite droopy.

 

The pitter pattering of the slowly growing typical-english rain makes itself at home on the window sill just outside the wards where the old fashioned 1920s windows were about to celebrate yet another New Years eve, standing tall over their depressed streets of London. The smell of the disinfectant really dances its way through to you and takes the pleasure of swinging itself and dancing the waltz around all the stenches of greater London. The rest of the Hospital must have been allot more modern than the section in which they were occupying, and the floor screamed at anyone who came in with muddy feet. The curtains were up to date but contrasted the rest of the building, and a slight cool sensation came from an irregular breeze from some automatic doors, in the more modern part of Kings College NHS that confidently made its way through the entrance of their ward, but who was complaining?

 

Lying on the bed in the background of the medical proffession, there was definitely something wrong about having some guy that you literally just met being to the right of you rubbing your hand slowly, while blinking with ease assuring you that everything was fine.

 

John, who was sat in a bedside chair, as the maitron must of let him come in with her had that certain likeness ot him. His hair a dark brown-ish colour and that same symetrical face that she met just moments before arriving into Paddington, as well as those dominant brown eyes really jogged her memory and eluminated a smile out of her with a tiny giggle, fragile to the Johns pure ear. In the body of a rugby player the slight smell of sweat against the dampness of the air outside that had showered John really made that epic smell that gripped onto her atractions for him. His tie flowed down his suit and really grabbed the harmony of a Londoner on one of the most romantic nights of the year.

 

The butterflies fluttered out of her stomach as he had his hand around hers. Like central heating, even though his tuxedo was slightly drenched on the surface, the heat couldn't escape through his greater organism, and one of those butterflies, not by purpose, just flew out from her mouth, where Ann said, "Not meaning to be rude...., but who exactly are you?". Was it fait? Was it actually for real, had she finally met her match? Interesting?

 

A silent tear came from his eye that dripped down his cheak and trickled onto his tux disguising itself as another rain drop. The other eye started the short but sweet water works and the hand which was holding onto hers started to shake and wonder and grip a bit more tightly on to hers. Short burst of blubber commenced by bursting them selves out in stitches. Innocent Sniffles were the crème de la crème, as all she really wanted to do was hug and comfort him". He brought her hand to his mouth and blew on it, to keep it warm, and then placed it onto his cheek. He then explained to her about his late relative that recently passed away in great ormand street hospital.

 

"I'm so sorry, I'm John, It's just bad memories of hospitals, thats all".

 

A beet-root face with glacious eyes stared at Ann as another tear trickled down.

 

"By your suit, you were obviously wanting to go out, why didn't you?, Why did you come in the ambulance with me?, You didn't have to, I mean, I don't even know you?", as she chuckled slightly.