Waiting

[lunexor]

Hey! I posted this on DeviantArt (I'm parinoid people will steal my mediocre work and pass it off as their own, i feel a little published on that site.)
So, enjoy.
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My legs crossed uncomfortably against the hard chair that rested beneath me while I waited, listening to the clock tick and tock to a rythm that could have matched my heartbeat. But it didn't, my heart had been pacing faster then a rabbit's for the last thirty nine minutes. Around me was a roomfull of empty chair, unoccupied by any other living being. Perhaps maybe a few microcopic organisms, they could have even been watching me for all I knew. Fornicating on the cold tile, and growing against the damp ceiling. The thought intimidated me, what right did bacteria have to be enjoying this experince in the room more than me? Either way, this gave me a chance to think of the general statistics of living organsims on the human body. With a shudder, I let that thought rest along with the memory of high school biology and that film where tiny bugs were blown into huge sizes by the film, so it looked like our skin was a foreign planet.
It felt like it had been such a long time sitting in that room and waiting, I had almost forgotten why I was there. I'm not too sure if people truely understand how slow time passes while you sit and wait for it to go fast, and how unbearable it can be. Waiting for an inevitable end to this ticking and tocking of the inscesient clock. If I had felt more comfortable, maybe leaning back and resting my neck against the back of the chair may have been an option. But it wasn't, this wasn't my home, it wasn't my choice to be relaxed or not. Besides, god only knew who was watching. This wasn't parinoid rambling, I had seen plenty of my pictures as I boarded the five o'clock subway from a far distance, taken by a supurb camera. These people I admired, who stalked other's for a payment. Their artistry of cameras was amazing, in films you normally see terribly shot photos. But no one can understand how dull it is to sit for hours, waiting. Things like getting the 'perfect shot' is left difficult, because with such patience, time goes slower. People move at an extraordinarily slow pace, giving you perfect options for pictures. When I explained this concept to one of my friends, she rolled my eyes and claimed I had too much to drink. It had been true, I was on my third glass of red wine and my inhibitions had been wiped from myself.
A sweaty palm smoothed the front of my shirt, I hadn't realized how nervous I was. I didn't feel nervous, I just felt annoyed. What was taking so long? As my hand moved against the rough cloth, I analyzed the situation. For someone who lived their life taking every single chance, and not letting a moment slip by, I was letting a lot of moments slip by. I can honestly say, I've never had to wait for something this long. Even when I was in jail, the wait was far less. In isolation, even, there were things to do. Besides, I wasn't a threat to the prison guard, I was nothing more than a delightful conversationalist.
You came into the room and took my hand, escorting me out of the room. I timed ourselves and my reactions to those of the second hand of the clock. Tock tick, tick tock. Before I knew it I was out of the room and into the hallway. You held onto me a bit tight, it wasn't comfortable. This was a job for you, nothing more and nothing less. But I know you wanted to say something. And after things ticked and tocked, you spoke.
"Why?"
Your voice was hoarse, and you were risking everything to ask this. If your employees ever found out why you were here. . . they would obliterate you. It would take one background check of you or I to find we were connected.
To answer your question, I whispered into your ear, rustling my lumiescent orange blouse against your navy blue. You said nothing and stared straight ahead, processing this information. You led me to another room. Was this it? You sat me in a chair and said someone would be with me in a moment.
For the next five minutes, I was bothered with questions. Did I believe in god? I chose not to answer, not to exert myself with the truth. So I gave incoherent responces, just waiting for it to get on with. The wall infront of me suddenly became illuminated, and transparent. It was almost magic by the glow of a dozen lamplights shining onto the wall. I recognized the room, where I had just sat. Where organisms from past decades lay, side by side, forever in peace. But this time there were people, solem people, but not even a room full. I reconized none of their glowering faces, behaving as if they were children who's candy had been stolen. "M'am." A voice said from beside me. I did not remove my eyes from the spectators, and I offered my right arm to the man who had taken residence beside me.
It only took a moment, a moment I took and held with me forever as I convulsed, strapped to the chair. I hope this led my audience satisfied, I wished this was all that they wanted. Nothing more and nothing less, I would always preform my best.
Hence, my last preformance was the most appealing, the most attractive to my audience. This is what they wanted, needed to see. Too bad I wasn't around for the applause.