Short stories

The waiting room

He knew he must keep very still while he waited. They landed, they stared, and they left, it was the same every day. He sat, he waited. The stared, they left. By the sixth day he was sick of it, he wished he could tell them to stop but he was just a boy and they were adults. So, it continued, he sat, he waited. The stared, they left. He sat, he waited. They stared, they left. He sat, he waited, they stared, she stayed. She sat, she waited. He stood, he left. She sat, she waited. They stared, they left. The cycle continued until someone stared and stayed then it repeated. New but no different.

We called it the waiting room, you walk in, you stare and then you leave. If curiosity got the best of you and you overstayed your visit, then you became the muse. You sit, you wait, the needle held tightly in your enclosed hand as they stare, and they leave. As the lights dim and you hear the click of the door, food is slid in from behind you. You eat, like a beast, starved for days at a time as she watches you. Curiosity got the best of her but soon, regret will be seen in her eyes and a needle in her neck.

She sat, she waited. Eyes trained on the door as her heart race increased. How in the hell did she get there and when can she leave? The first person entered, stared and left. Then the second, they stared, the left. Then the third, then the fourth and so on and so forth. They entered, they stared but never stayed. Those hours of waiting turned into days, days into weeks and weeks into months.

When he lifted his head, she barely recognised him for the bruises covering his body. She was free once again, but at what cost. He had clearly disobeyed once he became the muse, the defeated look on his face said it all. Yet they still came in, the still stared and they still left. Paying no attention to the newly broken boy. It didn't last long though, two weeks later it was a small girl, around seven or so. We try not to pay attention to age or looks, better to ignore them or the strange feeling of fear when you enter. Stops the curiosity from creeping up.

We should know, after all, we have been through it all before. We have sat in that chair, we have held that syringe and worst of all, we've committed that unforgiveable act. All to escape, any humane thoughts left our heads and our fight or flight instinct kicked in. We could feel their eyes before they even enter, their emotionless smiles filling their faces. Even the slightest movement of our bodies would cause our jewels and jems to chime, like a broken church bell. We refused to give them the satisfaction or our bodies sitting still like a porcelain doll on an old chair but its hard to move when all your body freezes up, a sinking feeling in your gut. Night would fall and the click of the door could be heard. You pray for an unknown body to walk out from the darkness, an unknown body to give you freedom. If the body appeared, you were given no time to celebrate, you had to jump up immediately, do it and go, walk free before they get you back so run, run away.

No one recognised you when you got free. Your jewels and gems and you satin dresses or tight waistcoats would disappear, they were swapped with rags in monotone colours as so to blend in with the crowd, as to not get caught.

I walked into the room, playing with the hem of my old rag. I awkwardly look at the male muse and smile slightly, sitting on one of the benches made for us, for the watchers. I could hear the clock tick continuously, the only sign of time going by. Soon enough the lights began to dim and people left, saying goodbye to the riches of the room. The always told us that sympathy would get us killed, but when you know what happens to a muse, its hard to avoid it, so instead I waited. The click of the door echoed in the room and the muse stood up. I walked out of the shadows and nodded gently at him, I felt the stab before I saw it and the last thing I muttered was 'run, be free..' and so like a bird in an open cage, he fled, he freed himself and I took his place.

They will yell at me for it but I'm sick of living this stupid cycle. We were music playing on an endless loop, where you always knew what was going to happen. I was going to change that; I was going to be the push we needed to stop this once and for all.

So, I sat, I waited. They stared, they left. For weeks it was like this, I got used to it and watched people enter, one after another. I started taking mental notes of any patterns with the visitors. There was five, then ten, then fifteen and then 3. There was five, then seven, then 2 and then 10. The numbers were all over the place, but they always started with five. There was five, then 16, then 14 and then 4. The complete pattern was still unknown, but it had only been a month since I took his place. He visited from time to time, giving me a small smile and then leaving. The lights would dim, each day like the one before.

I knew I must keep very still while I waited. They landed, they stared and then they left, it was the same every day. I sat, I waited. They stared, they left. By the sixth year I was sick of it, I wish I could tell them to stop but I was just a malnourished girl and they were a pack of hungry wolves. So, it continued, I sat, I waited. They stared, they left. I sat, I waited. They stared, she stayed. I sat, I waited. They stared, she left. The lights dimmed for the final time as I sat, I waited. He entered, I left...