Kent Henderson was just an average
man caught in the midst of a war, like so many billions of others. He sat in a
white tiled room, where the air was still and chilly. He grimaced at the
ambience of the hall he sat in. It consisted of pens clicked by anxious hands;
chaste whispers of large, Latin words he assumed had to do with medicine, and
the rancid smell of various chemicals.
Shifting on the faux leather bench,
Kent could not help but feel misplaced at the scene. After all, he was only an
undertaker. He never went to college, nor did his family prior to him. This
rave about neurology baffled him. He silently regretted that. If Kent had
become at least someone adept in the art of such skills, he would at least
learn how to ward off his splitting headache.
The insistent beeps of the machines
around him gave unsettling, echoing pings in his mind. They ricocheted
unbearably in the vast concoction of irksome sounds. Kent grumbled low, cupping
his hands and covering his weary head with them. Four hours. That was how long
he had sat there, stagnant and stiff. And on top of that, he couldn’t leave
until the doctor approved the body for examination.
Kent’s eyes shifted from his palms
to the bench beneath him. It was an atrocious shade of green. He grimaced upon
setting his eyes on it. Just the sight of it made him feel nauseous, not that
the entire institution did not make him feel nauseous enough as it was. Kent
snorted. He had grown so bored and grouchy he began to criticize the furniture. The doctor needed to hasten,
or he would outright leave to go home and sleep, regardless of whether or not
that was morally apropos.
The lights in a cracked door across
from the bench in which Kent sat became brighter and blinding as the door swung
open. Kent shielded his eyes, not expecting it to move for at least another two
hours. A man in mint-colored scrubs and a mask held the knob firmly with his
right gloved hand while his left tentatively clutched a clipboard.
“Mr. Henderson?” The nurse called.
Kent rubbed his eyes with his thick forefingers. He yawned as he contracted his
left shoulder and rolled it back. The nurse turned to him with impatient eyes,
almost lecturing him to stop wasting time.
Kent muttered as he parted from the
bench. “ ‘Bout time someone got me…” He was just loud enough for the nurse to
be in earshot. Kent expected the man to narrow his eyes, but he simply stood
there looking, daresay, quite visibly shaken by something.
Kent paled slightly at this. As he
approached the door, Kent addressed the man in the walkway.
“What’s the matter with you, lad?
Looks like you’ve just met a ghost.” The nurse shook his head, but said
nothing. This only confirmed Kent’s skepticism on what the subject of interest
was. Kent himself felt a knot forming in his throat, though he dismissed it
with an edgy gulp.
