Short Stories #2
Short Stories #2
2. Waiting
Heels clicked against the polished, stone floor as nurses in white and teal, carrying paperwork and various instruments hurried by. Hands typed on keyboards in a flurry while also picking up calls for appointments and guiding a long line of patients. The smell of disinfectant and sanitizer never failed to assault the senses but you get used to it after a while. Soft murmurs and chatters lazily floated in the room creating a lull in the air which would be shattered by the sudden, alarming announcement for the next patient. Irritation simmered underneath my skin as unruly children ran around untamed, threw magazines at each other and spilled water on the floor while the parents chit chatted or scrolled on their screens. Somewhere in the back a child started wailing. I heaved a deep sigh and felt the beginnings of a pounding headache. I was already here longer than I should have been, absolutely annoyed that they delayed my appointment to twenty minutes later. A man to my right kept distractingly tapping his water bottle, his fingers moving in a synchronized rhythm. The little boy to my left kept shifting in his seat and would get up every two minutes to explore the restroom despite being reprimanded by his mother repeatedly. A woman across me crossed her legs and shook her foot while another tapped her obnoxiously high heeled shoes. Restless and bored, that's what they all were. The wailing of the baby had now reached a high intensity, ear piercing shriek which left the father no choice but to take his child outside. A few people sighed in relief. I, too, heaved another deep sigh but not of relief, as my headache reached its potential and banged against my skull. I wondered, not for the first time, how long it would take for my turn. Till then, I'll be waiting.
More Posts from Useless12sstuff and Others
“The Strongest Of The Strange”
you won’t see them often
for wherever the crowd is
they are not.
those odd ones, not many
but from them come
the few good paintings
the few good symphonies
the few good books
and other works.
and from the best of
the strange ones perhaps
nothing.
they are their own
paintings
their own
books
their own
music
their own
work.
sometimes I think
I see them – say
a certain old
man sitting on a
certain bench
in a certain way
or
a quick face
going the other way
in a passing
automobile
or
there’s a certain motion
of the hands
of a bag-boy or a bag-girl
while packing supermarket groceries.
sometimes
it is even somebody
you have been
living with
for some time –
you will notice a
lightning quick
glance never seen
from them before.
sometimes
you will only note
their existance suddenly
in vivid recall
some months
some years
after they are
gone.
I remember
such a one –
he was about
20 years old
drunk at 10 a.m.
staring into a cracked
New Orleans mirror
facing dreaming
against the walls of
the world
where
did I
go?
~Charles Bukowski
Suffering is inevitable in this world, a happy ending is a lie, sadness lingers forever in our souls. Some of us are holding on while others lost themselves in the wild, never to return.
-haru
[ Photo credits to its rightful owner ]
"Totemism", Dime-Store Alchemy: The Art of Joseph Cornell by Charles Simic.
Creativity
You know, I’ve either had a family, a job,
something has always been in the way
but now
I’ve sold my house, I’ve found this
place, a large studio, you should see the space and the light.
for the first time in my life I’m going to have a place and the time to create.”
no baby, if you’re going to create
you’re going to create whether you work
16 hours a day in a coal mine
or
you’re going to create in a small room with 3 children
while you’re on welfare,
you’re going to create with part of your mind and your body blown away,
you’re going to create blind,
crippled
demented,
you’re going to create with a cat crawling up your back while the whole city trembles in earthquake, bombardment, flood and fire.
baby, air and light and time and space
have nothing to do with it
and don’t create anything
except maybe a longer life to find
new excuses for.
~Charles Bukowski
:D
Charles Baudelaire, The Enemy
I made a room for you in my mind.
I was foolish, I thought you were kind.
I never noticed the knife when you came from behind.
Or the chains on my arms that bind,
Or the cloth over my eyes that blinds.
I remember when I lovingly made a room for you in my mind.
I was wrong, you weren't kind
~Me
The Comet Book (1587), details, “16th-century treatise on comets, created anonymously (or maybe it was a woman who endured erasure) in Flanders”. Originally named in german Kometenbuch.
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