Support

Maybe I am alive these days.
After all I feel quite calm, despite the agitated Waters of the past few days.
My feline friend has been keeping me from harm's way.

Now therefore I wonder what will happen if the world gives me a chance to be happy once again.  And still I have no idea what dreams will come.

A few weeks have passed since the upstairs sentences were written. The set is another waiting room. Larger and filled with people waiting to get pricked for blood before proceeding to any doctor's appointment and get some information about what health will come.
They all eagerly stare at the monitor that beeps the order of call, which will define to each a station where a nurse will seringe them all for analysis.
There are tenths of people in the room.
Outside the day is grey, but outside is just a sliding door away. As each person enters this passage reveals the dawn of day and the developing rain that comes with it.
As I see the world after 41 years, everything else loses meaning when anyone had his health  having a dire day.

The ambient in the hospital waiting room is for the most part quiet and yet filled with tension of the unknown. I wonder if people think what will come of them? How long do they have? The despair of the unwelcomed pain with the uncertainty of the Future leaves very little room to politeness and good behavior.
People just want their problem fix and no residue of pain, which here works as a signal to warn that something is not right in their bodies.
They all need some kind of support.

Waiting room

The room holds 25 blue chairs, divided in tandem groups.
The patients or their companions occasionally take a sit and engage on different ways to pass the time, until one of the voices on the other side of the loudspeaker releases them from the purgatory of the wait. Most of them are involved with their gadgets, a cell phone, a tablet, a few read books or magazines, others indulge on a mid morning snack to delude the hunger that inevitably ends up showing during the long waiting hours.
This is a purgatory indeed, one of fate.
After all, this is the oncology ward, where lives are over like a light is shut with a flick of a switch.  The dire revelation of the dreaded Mr. Cancer is felt in the room. However no one seems to be revealing the odd truth, behind their wait.
Will I die soon?
Am I going to make it?
Will it hurt?
What will come of me if he or she goes?
A dire wait in a cold hospital waiting room, where the only constant is the tandem groups that account for 25 blue chairs.