The Waiting Room

I was inspired to write this while reasing another author's work. I took a similar idea and took it in a different direction. I don't like this piece as it feels lazy, but i'm very fond of some of it.

All of a sudden my ears were split in two by a sound, one not unlike the shattering of thunder. Close by me, near me, and from all around me came the sound of rushing, falling water. For the life of me I couldn’t see where it was coming from, but the way it shook the ground was akin to a seizure, for that I knew the sound was real. I could never describe the rumble for it was unlike anything I had ever imagined, let alone heard for myself. I thought that some titan, some colossus whose might was herculean, may have taken the entire seven seas within the cup of its hand, and was slowly pouring it out, sending the torrent cascading into an abyss of ten million fathoms, its darkness almost shining with the colour of death.


I shook my head, throwing aside the fiends of my imagination, and clawed desperately for a handhold on reality. I listened, my breath trapped far inside me, as the sound slowly stopped. Gradually I felt as though I was alone, like whatever force I had encountered had finally left. I was wrong.


I waited; fearfully certain that I would be ripped from existence on the Devil’s hairy back. I expected the sound to begin again, to draw closer, to find me. I listened for death on his horse but he did not come. I was left alone, all alone.


The isolation I felt in the darkness hacked at me with panic. It was a new, foul tasting fear, one I had always dreaded. All through my life I cowered at the idea of being on my own, clinging onto relationships with people I did not want just so that I would feel desired. I was sick and I needed help but at that moment, as I listened to the sound of silence, I was more alone than I had ever been.  


My mind drifted; my past, my present, and the idea of my future, all passed before my eyes. I saw faces I had long forgotten, and all the wrongs I had ever done. They say that men who look into the eyes of death see their lives staring back at them, doom was nowhere to be seen, but my life was there. I felt all the feelings I had had through my existence, my heart soared and fell again and again.


I didn’t understand time, especially then when it seemed to have stopped. I didn’t jump for things, I fell into dead ends, always hoping that the right life would come along if I just stayed where I was. Maybe that’s why I was an old man with nothing to show for it. Maybe that was it.


Love and life are simple. All that this world requires is for people to live their own lives, but I’m sure most of the population do the same as I, and let life be lived for them. Earth is both heaven and hell combined, for some a perfect place, for others endless misery; those are the lucky ones. It’s men like me, the men who live and die without anyone ever really noticing, who truly suffer. We live without pain, but then we live without anything, we let things go out of fear. We move in an endless purgatory of nonexistence.


I knew that soon I would die, I knew because that noise I heard, that rushing, thundering sound, was not water. It was my blood deep within me, my life force, giving up. Part of me was glad because I didn’t deserve it, I felt as though my being given life was an error on the part of God. The other half of me, the half that speaks to you now, wished that things were different; because in my final seconds, when the faces of those I loved should have flashed before my eyes, I saw nothing, just the darkness that waited beyond.

The End

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