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Mirror Mirror
Click. Click. Click. Five years and he still hadn't gotten use to the monotonous repetition that bounced off the bare corridor walls and flew black to shatter his ear drums with the same; click, click, click. The arthritis had taken grasp of his hands now, leaving his own grasp impaired. He pondered over how long it would be before the sharp tapping of his stick would be replaced by a dull squelching of rubber wheels. The thought soothed him and yet sent shivers down his crooked frame, for how long could he fight against them? Those who were all too happy abandoning him into retirement and retire homes, armed only with his pension and the hope that he might accidentally run over an unsuspecting nurses foot with his wheelchair. He was more than sure that even the soft squelching against the polished floor would drive him to insanity when it would be the only thing, beside the hum of elderly women singing in the shower, that would pierce the silence of his lonely days. His client was already waiting, sat on one side of a deep mahogany table. He pushed open the door to be met by the stale odour of alcohol and cigarettes, he winced as if in pain as he shoved the door closed and propped his stick against the table. Pulling the large blue chair away from the table, he positioned himself opposite his client, who seemed blissfully unaware of his own reeking odour and scruffy attire. Careless. He had known what sort of people he could, and probably would, have to be counselling when he applied for the psychologist position, and yet it still sickened and shocked him each time. He cleared his throat as he lifted his head to look directly at his client for the first time since he had entered the room, his tone was polite and tender, almost as if he cared, “Good morning, how are you feeling today?”
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Click, Click, Click. Another day, another client, life moved on quickly in the Psychiatric Unit. At least this monotonous routine would make it easier to deal with the strict schedule of Oakside Care Home. His 11 o'clock was waiting in his room, this time a young boy of maybe 10 or 11. Not that age matters, a nut case is a nut case, he thought, his stern bony face remaining just as cold as he greeted the boy, “Good morning, how are you feeling today?”
Fopp · Thu Mar 25, 2010 @ 09:23pm · 0 Comments |
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