<table width="100%"><tr><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-right:10px;"><span style="color: #E6E9FD"><span style="font-family: Nyala;"><span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;">It was hard enough as it was to be in a new place for the first time, with kids screaming in your ear. He didn't really need all of that stress and commotion inside of a hospital, and he especially didn't need secretes. <br/><br/>Just moments ago, the small examination room was heated up with three red bodies. The child sat on the paper covered table, cheeks gleaming from drying tears and scabbing lacerations, occasionally sniffling and holding an injured hand. But the adults in the room whispered in confusion and impatience until they were red in the face, their questions thrown at one another no longer meaning a thing because they had been asked several times before. Their murmured bickering lead to nothing but sore throats and welled up tears. And although not all evidence of this argument could be hidden, once the doctor came into the room to study the damage, the couple removed all conversation between one another, distracting themselves with the two other children who waited patiently by their sides. The doctor came in, took several minutes to record a physical examination, gave a brief explanation, and left, leaving the couple to instantly hiss at one another under their breaths once again. <br/><br/>After several more grueling minutes of heated arguing, the man was kicked out by the demanding mother, in which he gladly obliged and stormed out of the room. It was significantly cooler out in the hall than it was in the fire of the examination room, but the father brought his own flames with him out into the lobby. He passed without much care by another young man suffering through his own frustrations with the woman at the desk. His thoughts were too consumed by fury to even remotely be concerned with a strangers well-being. <br/><br/>He walked into the waiting room with a stomp in his step, a glare in his eye, and sweat on his brow. His fists clenched so his nails started to embed into the palms of his hands. He weaved around the chairs and side tables, ultimately to find a spot in which he could pace. Which he did. The wavy haired brunette ferociously took the brown cap off his head, seeming as if to throw it. However, he merely scrunched it in his fist, using his free hand to run through his thick hair from the front. But combing his hair was not his intention, for he instantaneously shook it furiously, stray strands splaying out like an old broom's comb. It was then he chucked the cap, throwing it with a thud as it hit the hard backboard of one of the seats. <br/><br/>The man at the desk obviously argued with the woman who sat behind it, even the comedian's closed eyes can picture it. But his eyes were closed for reasons other than imagining his surroundings, and he tried his best to push it aside. But along with his screaming thoughts and the tone in the stranger's voice, it didn't add up to a successful aid in his clearing of the mind. Actually, it only made it worse as memories from the past started to play back in his mind like an old drive in theatre movie. Some were completely random, like childhood memories of playing tag, while others were totally and utterly relevant, such as the angering events that happened just prior their arrival at the hospital. Before they even needed to go to the hospital to be more specific.</span></span></span></td><td style="vertical-align: top; width:50%; padding-left:10px;"><span style="color: #E6E9FD"><span style="font-family: Nyala;"><span style="font-size: 120%; line-height: 116%;">They all boiled inside his brain as if it were a giant cauldron and a devil were stirring it maliciously, waiting for it to fully mix into a lethal bowl of wrath and anguish. But maybe strangers were good for something after all, because he heard footsteps beside him. The father opened his eyes, jolting away as he was about to step into the man. He grumbled a meek apology and forced his feet to stop in their place. The brief interaction brought the infuriated man out of his own thoughts, which was more than a good thing. Because when you feel like chucking a chair at the nearest person, you probably want someone to snap you out of whatever you were thinking about. And although it was small, it was apparently enough. With an exasperated huff, he finally took a seat, taking the chair his hat originally occupied and shoving the cap onto his head yet again.<br/><br/>Sitting didn't help much, on the other hand. It didn't prevent him from being frustrated. It didn't stop him from thinking about the children in that confined room, or the debates in the car or the screaming. It didn't even stop him from balling his fists. He supposed the only thing it did stop him from was from digging a trench with his feet in the floor. Not that it really mattered, especially to him, what happened to the hospital floor. It was a floor. Just like the chair was a chair and his hat was a hat. It didn't make a difference to him, not at this moment. Because none of that changed the fact that he was here, and it certainly didn't change the fact as to why, so he couldn't care less about it in retrospect. Even if it was a decent chair or even if his hat was comical. He didn't care. <br/><br/>Starring at the supposedly useless floor, he ground his teeth inside his mouth to make noise in the now virtually silent room. The only noises was his own heavy breathing, the clicking of the desk lady's keyboard, and the tapping of the stranger's pen to his paper he apparently needed to fill out. Funny how quickly sound dissipated. The comedian shook his head, flattening out each hand to lay flat on his thighs and running them along his jeans. Suddenly he raised a fist, about to slam it into his own leg. But much like the noise level, it vanished instantly as his hand opened yet again and he leaned forward to prop his elbows onto his knees. With hands open and accepting, he buried his face into them, breathing in through his nose which seemed to amplify what little noise it made. Or maybe he was just a loud breather. <br/><br/>Either way, he remained like such for a long, solid minute. But as the ticking on the clock monotonously reminded everyone that time went on, the father's mind started to roam to places yet again. And by the end of that minute, his posture had slowly changed to a significant slouch, his hands looking to be the only reason why his chin was not to his chest. But the most significant change was that his steady breathing was replaced by sudden heaving of his chest and stomach. His entire torso jolted with his staggered breath in and every stuttered exhale, and through the cracks and spaces between his emaciated fingers, his blank expression drooped to that of a frown. The time clicked on with a soft tick tock, the woman completely unphased behind her desk, and the world slowly turned without him as he sat in his hospital chair, softly crying.</span></span></span></td></tr></table>