Waiting

Sure they'll tell you that it's going to be fine. But really, you know it isn't.

There isn't much you can say, so you just nod and resume your nail-biting habit. It's a comforting feeling, albeit one that causes much frustration amongst your peers; but you don't care, it's your solace and you're not going to stop because people tell you to.

You sit on the bench, waiting for someone to come and fetch you, crossing and uncrossing your legs nervously. The couch is leather, tainted with the smells of tobacco and peppermint from generations of anxious visitors awaiting some form of news.

Hours pass by and your sure, absolutely positive, that it's a terrible fate beyond the doors of the room you cannot enter. The clock ticks, each second ticking louder than the last and before you know it, you're sure that your head is going to explode with the pounding in your head.

You know there's no point in asking the people who walk past you with indifferent facial expressions and crisp white coats. They never have the answer even when they say they do. Your fate supposedly rests in their hands but honestly, you know that they're taking as much of a chance as you are. There's no denying it.

They offer to bring you tea, coffee, anything, several times before giving up. You don't need anything and there's no point in wasting what's not wanted. They should know better than anyone.

Closing your eyes, you attempt to drift off into a peaceful slumber but the minute your eyes are shut, you're struck with haunting images that cause you great distress. Sighing, you sit up and brush the greasy locks that cling to your forehead away, you haven't left this place nor have you taken the liberty to wash yourself. If she couldn't then why could you?

A flock of students rush in, causing uproar and you groan. This is the last thing you need. That anyone needs. They completely disregard their surroundings and slowly trudge out not giving a care as to the disruption they've just cause. Why would they need to be considerate, they weren't holding on to the last tendrils of hope that could make or break them.

You think about the times you've shared and a tear trickles down your cheek. There, only a distance of a few meters lays your guide, your sunshine and your mentor and you don't even know whether you will speak to her again.

The window beckons you forth and you willingly accept the invitation. Mustering as much energy as is possible for you, you heave yourself up off of the couch and float over to the window. The sky is clear and you know that this is it. Your confident will just be another piece of blue sky and there's no hiding from it anymore. It's time.

The door s burst open and a woman, aged in appearance, walks out sobs racking her body. Before you even have a chance to speak to her you find yourself sharing her sorrow. She walks towards you, her face glistening with tears in the light, and shakes her head.

You knew this was coming but still you can't help but deny the fact. It's all just a big mistake you think. There must be a way, but they tell you there isn't. It's over and you need to accept it.

A man in glasses and a white coat saunters over almost lazily and explains that the loss of a loved one can be a difficult obstacle to overcome but you know that's all bullshit to them. They just don't want to take the time and talk to you. Sure enough the doctor tells you that there is bereavement counselling available and that you are welcome to attend. You blink at him once and walk away. It's no use causing a scene. Your mother has taught you better.

Staring into the bland room beyond where you are standing, you see a sheet. A white sheet. And underneath that sheet lays the nicest person you have ever had the pleasure of meeting and you know now that it's all you can think of to stop yourself from losing your mind completely.

But that's it. That girl that was once a heart and soul of the room is now gone.

Just another little piece of blue sky.