The waiting room.

A stillness pervades the air as I first step into the room. It was airy yet sweet, the composure of which had ten chairs laid out in front of me.
Sweat was glistening my brow as the cold air regressed to the sudden heat.
 I had beforehand turned to the receptionist, she after taking in my lesser appearance noted my presence thus I return to the waiting room.
The cold water tank is the first to catch my eye as forward I walked, dropping my bag to the blue wooden seat that sat nearest to it. In my flustered haste forgetfulness fluttered for an instant then disappeared as the water poured out into the cup I held.
Gulping down the cold liquid I hoped to become cooler yet my thirst was not yet quenched.
 I repeated the action.
Once settled I pulled out a book, hoping to read in till my name was called.
 I felt people come in around me, before I noticed them however, the pictures made to look attractive and painfully artistic had my full concentration. Each was of a landscape or cliff face, a more rough and black outlined of look. Open mindedness had definitely not been the cause of such paintings or copies appearing on these cream or blue walls.

Finally my eyes settled on the three persons that had entered.

The first stared at me. Her eyes dark, hollowed cheeks, dark frissy hair gave her no blessing with a favoured look. Her pasty face gave the eyes that beheld me a more depressing of feeling, looking as though she were looking at enemies surrounding her. After taking in my figure for good a solid minute she moved on to the next person, I also followed her gaze.

A suit, polished shoes, all in a brown colour the type of brown that Bob Ross would use on one of his forest paintings. The face of the man was vague, he may have worn glasses.

Another man soon joined us, he wore denim blue and sat two chairs from mine. He had short hair, but as I would have had to turned my head to study him fully this was all I remember.

The last person, a woman sat next to the black haired girl, of which with a more desperate stance reached out and placed her hand on the woman's leg an act of comfort had it not been forced. The woman did not react too warmly she merely looked up at the ceiling holding her hands within the other, her legs crissed crossed and prim under a long karki skirt.

One by one each name was called.

When mine was called, all I remembered was the difference in characteristics the five of us had. That my memory only let me recall certain aspects of the people and waiting room during that time. How each of us had a life so full or so less than the other. How just for a brief moment we had in a millisecond of our lifetimes met each other, never speaking, never interacting, not even knowing each others names yet we were still there in the others life.

Thousands of lives cross your own everyday without you even knowing. Just being part of a strangers life just for a minute or even half an hour is a privilege when realising how short a time all of us have on this earth.

A.M.Dale