my drug test - a bleak affair

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

My drug test - a bleak affair

Here I am sitting down in a silent room somewhat resembling solitary confinement. The floor is covered with an ugly navy-blue carpet. On the otherwise blank white walls there are four framed black and white pictures of sunflowers and roses. Dozens of flouresent ceiling lights illuminate the room with a bright glare like an operating theatre. There are others sitting by me: their faces are expressionless.
The attendant is neatly dressed in a bleak grey uniform with a black and white striped undershirt. In her eyes there is a cold, uncaring gaze; callous disregard; a blank look lacking compassion. She has a stern tone of voice, an efficient manner, and she clearly was not in the habit of smiling or laughing. There is a sign depicting a small group of content and serious healthcare professionals, with folded arms, saying: in this clinic we do no tolerate violence or verbal abuse. Another reads: NO MONEY OR DRUGS ARE KEPT ON THE PREMISES. I feel like a criminal in a holding cell. There is a word to describe this atmosphere: enmity.
Suddenly name is called by another particularly stern and humourless, grey-clad healthcare professional. His aged features give the impression of experience and he is wearing a shiny gold wristwatch. I thought to myself that the juxtaposition between this man's bleak attire and his striking wristwatch likely represents his internal values. I realise that I pity these helpless and unhappy characters.
I'm led down an unremarkable adjoining corridor in solemn silence like an inmate without handcuffs. I'm brought to a dingy windowless bathroom with stained walls and limited furniture. I'm handed a plastic specimen jar. I notice the door has no lock on it. The expressionless eyes of my tormentor reflect the nature of his spirit, attenuated through years of carrying out his duty. I'm motioned toward the toilet in order to carry out my own duty. Suddenly in silent alarm I notice the door behind me has not been fully closed. Through the slit are a pair of glazed eyes, silently beckoning me to continue.
Afterwards I reflect pensively on where I'd been and those I met, their deep mistrust, sadness and tiredness. They are helplessly shackled to their dull fate of necessary apathy. I long for a different time and place where the flowers are coloured, where there is trust and not perpetual suffering. I can't help feel resentful at the ubiquitousness of such hopeless sadness and the puritanical punishments and vindictive spite of the law.

My drug test - a bleak affair

Here I am sitting down in a silent room somewhat resembling solitary confinement. The floor is covered with an ugly navy-blue carpet. On the otherwise blank white walls there are four framed black and white pictures of sunflowers and roses. Dozens of flouresent ceiling lights illuminate the room with a bright glare like an operating theatre. There are others sitting by me: their faces are expressionless.

The attendant is neatly dressed in a bleak grey uniform with a black and white striped undershirt. In her eyes there is a cold, uncaring gaze; callous disregard; a blank look lacking compassion. She has a stern tone of voice, an efficient manner, and she clearly was not in the habit of smiling or laughing. There is a sign depicting a small group of content and serious healthcare professionals, with folded arms, saying: in this clinic we do no tolerate violence or verbal abuse. Another reads: NO MONEY OR DRUGS ARE KEPT ON THE PREMISES. I feel like a criminal in a holding cell. There is a word to describe this atmosphere: enmity.

Suddenly name is called by another particularly stern and humourless, grey-clad healthcare professional. His aged features give the impression of experience and he is wearing a shiny gold wristwatch. I thought to myself that the juxtaposition between this man's bleak attire and his striking wristwatch likely represents his internal values. I realise that I pity these helpless and unhappy characters.

I'm led down an unremarkable adjoining corridor in solemn silence like an inmate without handcuffs. I'm brought to a dingy windowless bathroom with stained walls and limited furniture. I'm handed a plastic specimen jar. I notice the door has no lock on it. The expressionless eyes of my tormentor reflect the nature of his spirit, attenuated through years of carrying out his duty. I'm motioned toward the toilet in order to carry out my own duty. Suddenly in silent alarm I notice the door behind me has not been fully closed. Through the slit are a pair of glazed eyes, silently beckoning me to continue.

Afterwards I reflect pensively on where I'd been and those I met, their deep mistrust, sadness and tiredness. They are helplessly shackled to their dull fate of necessary apathy. I long for a different time and place where the flowers are coloured, where there is trust and not perpetual suffering. I can't help feel resentful at the ubiquitousness of such hopeless sadness and the puritanical punishments and vindictive spite of the law.

 


Submitted: December 27, 2020

© Copyright 2021 olive tree. All rights reserved.

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Comments

Criss Sole

I loved how you describe everything... i felt like i was right there.
No privacy , no freedom. Not a situation anyone would want to be in.
Did you mean to post it twice or was that an accident? I got to the end and it started at the beginning again.
Anyways, great story and good luck with your writing!

Mon, December 28th, 2020 12:33pm

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