Here's an extract of a short story I've been writing on and off for a while. Constructive criticism is very welcome.
Quote:
Chapter 1: Anxiety
Joseph always hated medical facilities. Doctors’ surgeries, hospitals. Psychiatric clinics. St Benjamin’s was no different.
“Come on, Joseph. I know you don’t want to, but you have to go in there.”
Joseph jumped a little, turned to look at his mother in the drivers’ seat. He forced a weak smile. She forced one back. They both knew neither of them wanted to be there. But she was right. It had to be done.
“Okay, Mum,” he mumbled.
“Good lad. I’ll be here when you come out, okay?”
She leant over and kissed him on the cheek. He got out of the car and ran through the rain to the entrance.
As much as Joseph hated what he called “psy-clins”, at least the place was dry. The torrential rain outside had been persisting for the past three days and showed no sign of relenting. It was warm, too. Places like this always were. Maybe they had to be, as a measure to keep the patients calm or something. Joseph had never been to St Benjamin’s before, but it was the same as every other place like it he had been to in the past. The muted colour scheme, the smell of cheap carpet, the seemingly constant ring of telephones…
“Can I help you, sir?”
Joseph walked over to the receptionist who had just hailed him. She was petite and pretty, with bright green eyes and medium brown hair done up in a bun. Joseph briefly imagined what it would be like to run his hands through that hair. To kiss those full lips. Her smile was gorgeous…
“Sir?”
He came back to his senses. “Hi, sorry. I have a 4:30 appointment with Dr Schützberg.”
“Okay, could I take your name please?”
“Joseph Bellman.”
“Thanks. Let me just check that for you… Yep, there you are. If you could just take a seat in waiting area 2 and Dr Schützberg will be with you shortly.”
He thanked her and made his way over to the waiting area. He starting to feel the familiar gnawing sensation as anxiety kicked in. It was ridiculous; he was here to help the anxiety, yet it attacked him every time he had a therapy session. Madness.
He smiled a little at that. People always avoided using that word around him. “Madness”. Along with “mental”, “crazy”, et cetera, et cetera... What did people expect him to do if they said those words? Go mental, he assumed.
He looked around at the other patients. An old man quietly sobbed to himself. A stressed looking young woman tried to stop her young and obviously autistic son from repeatedly getting out of his chair. A sallow faced teenage girl stared at him. Joseph looked quickly away. He often wondered about his fellow patients. Sometimes he constructed entire lives for them in his mind. He had always been told he was very imaginative person. Apparently a vast imagination was very common among schizophrenics.
“Joseph Bellman for Dr Schützberg please,” droned the intercom. Joseph heaved a sigh and got out of his chair. He hated this part. He always felt like everyone was watching him as he made his way to the doctor’s office. Judging him. The thin girl was still staring at him, which didn’t help. He sauntered his way to a peeling brown door with a plaque reading “Dr Schützberg, clinical psychiatrist” and knocked.
Thoughts?
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04 Jul 2013, 5:48 am
