Too many times
-- too many for someone like him, he thought, somewhat bitterly.
I can see the reason behind the saying, "The white walls drive you mad."
He, an ordinary man compared to all the praised saviors rushing about him, scurryingthrough rooms and vacant-like hallways, sat there waiting for his turn. Not one of thecaffeine-deprived workers he only glanced at came up to him. He longed for someone's presence, to relieve his bitter loneliness, but then again, no matter how much he craved it,he despised it all the same.His worn, tired hands wrung themselves-- over, over, and over. He had enough control toquell the urge to tap his foot impatiently. His face remained impassive despite hisgrowing annoyance. How long has he sat here? How many times has he waited, slowlylosing another piece of his mind?
Too many times.
Finally, a too-young woman came up to him, in her coat and crisp clean pants. His scruffyface felt misshapen compared to everyone appearance.He nodded to her only once, his voice not willing itself to work. No matter how manytimes he told himself to get a grip, to not be so emotional, his throat would closeregardless of his brain's useless demands.They walked throughout the brightly lit corridors, the overly used expression of 'sterilewhite' popping into his mind, but he scoffed at it. No smell of disinfectant. No lemonfloor polish. No scent of the papery product that always hung around. Instead it smelt of faint chocolate and pine. He scowled to himself, no place should be this inviting.He was led to a door, the woman not saying a word as she lightly pushed it open. The pale blue lining made it seem so falsely cheerful-- so disbelievingly welcome. He ambledover to the bed that was smack dead center in the room. The place was so bright from thesun pouring in behind those soft white curtains. A table stood next to the bed, with a vaseof fake flowers. Fake, just like everything else, he thought sardonically.There was a door off to the side, which he knew for a fact was a bathroom. The door wasclosed, and a yellow light flickered through the crack. On, off, on, off...He loudly cleared his throat, not from a blockage, but to grab the attention of however was behind the door. He heard a startled yelp before the door was cautiously opened. Alone eye peeked out, before the door was flung too harshly to the side, making him cringeat the crash. A woman-- too frail to be a woman, more of a skeleton-- stood there in pajama pants and an over sized shirt. The woman neither smiled nor frowned in his presence, staring at him with such a look of confusion, it was unnatural. He only turnedto the woman, waiting for what she would do."You're..." Her voice was scratchy, but not enough to sound as if she had been smokingthree packs every day. He nodded, realizing what she was trying to say, and avoidedlooking at anything but her eyes. His gaze never strayed to the veins he could plainly seeon her arms, or her sick complexion. They didn't wander to her unevenly chopped hair, or
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