A Short Visit to Room 314

Your shaking fingers attempt to create a spark and light your crooked cigarette. You fail and let your hands slam down onto the table in defeat. You tongue the end of the filter for a hint of nicotine. No such luck. You shove the cigarette back into the box, crushing it even more. Your son mumbles to himself on his stained bed and picks at the peeling paint. You watch for a moment and sigh. You run your left hand through your hair and close your eyes, still gripping that cheap, gas station lighter. Your son unexpectedly screams. Your hand tightens in your hair and around the lighter. Your eyes fly open and you turn to your son, back to peeling paint. As if nothing happened. Your body still tense, you throw the lighter. It clips his ear and he immediately curls in the fetal position, trembling. You breathe heavily, a strand of graying hair falls into your face. You stumble back, falling clumsily into the chair. You rub your arms, shoulders, neck. You feel tears stinging at the backs of your eyes and in your throat. You hold yourself and rock back and forth. You hear the door open. You stand up quickly and push your hair out of your face. You straighten your clothes. The nurse walks in, white uniform and white smile perfect and straight. Not a strand of hair out of place. 

"Visiting time is over, Ms. Mairs. I'm sure we'll see you next week, though." 

The nurse flashes her perfect smile. You nod. The nurse holds the door open for you and you walk out. The tremor persists in your hands. You leave, the doors buzzing and locking behind you.

Reviews

[Cicera]

This is a good story particularly for being short. Though the effect of the buzzing and locking of the doors seems to have been there since the beginning-and even before-it continues after the visit is over for an undetermined time.

What is normally a constant state of heaviness, unrest and a trouble of mind and soul, that could be found in the cigarette and the signs of decay, is fitted to a short passing piece of time. This juxtaposition between endless hopelessness and swiftly dying time is paradoxical in nature.

I liken this connection between eternity and decay to some milder examples that do not feel so dark, though quite questionable when ordinariness and everyday casualness are taken out of consideration.

Take the monthly or the bi-monthly visit to the hairdresser, for example. Or even the daily practise of brushing the teeth. The visit, in my opinion, is just another demonstration of the same mundaneness but with a deeper socio-psychologial side to it. This awkward portrait of a mother and her child-as I understand it is-is an evidence of this unfitted combination.

[NOSGALA]

Very vivid. Great job! The extremely evocative imagery results in the second-person taking control over the reader. The end result: the reader involuntary but strongly associates with Ms. Mairs. I just realized how it is even Ms. Mairs and not Mrs. Mairs - DETAIL!! I love this piece - albeit short. I want to read more... Keep up the good work!