24th November 2005
The Waiting Room.
Short fiction Author: Firecat
Created: 24 November 2004




So, here we are, my son and I, in the waiting room, waiting to see a consultant. There are two, in rooms one at each end. The waiting room is large but crowded.
One end is light and airy, cool with large open windows onto a freshly mown lawn, fragrant, clean, peaceful. That end of the room is full.
My son and I find a seat at the other end. It is dark, dirty, dingy, dank, dilapidated, disgusting.
My son has panic attacks and cannot go to school. Once you cannot get your child to school, silent wheels set in motion for his protection. He has already had to go to a residential psychiatric assessment unit for eight months, he got back to school for a while after that but he has slowly slid back down the slope. Now he won't go out, won't see his friends, won't go upstairs, sometimes he sits under the table. He has told us when he grows up he wants to live in a room in a single-storey motel and watch television. He asks, "why do we have to wait here when heaven is so much nicer?"
This end of the room really is most disturbing, there are screams, and banging on the wall. A smell of urine, fear and sulphur. My son was anxious already but sitting here is really getting to him. He wants to run home but is too afraid to leave me. His whole behaviour is worsening, if you did not know his problems you would say he was just plain naughty, bad. He cannot stand waiting here and is getting worse and worse the longer we stay. If only we could have waited at the other end, by the other door, he would have been such a calm, gentle, adorable, serene child.




REVIEW:Short Fiction: A3325376 - The Waiting Room.