NEW WRITING: god of the waiting room.

 

He sat - his thin, razor-sharp legs ill-fitting the space he'd been allocated. He shifted his bony ass around and through the tangerined plastic chair - home for the duration. He moved his head, extending his neck so that his jaw caught the feeble sunlight from the high-perched window. He closed his eyes, soaked up the suns pointless rays, and let his mind trip over a question or two. Was he hungry? Did he need to pee? Was god watching him? He shifted his eyelid quietly, lazily, so that he could glance through to the room. He used his broken eye, the one that saw more. He moved his head a little - left, right, back again. There were shifts in the norm - here and there, and over there, near the coffee machine - a light ripple pulsed - but nothing to complain about. So? Was he watching? God of the waiting room? Of course he was, but only half-heartedly. He lowered his eyelid back down, dropped his head and snorted silently to himself. Him and his fiery angels, he thought to himself - otherwise occupied. He got up, brushed himself down. He needed to pee, and he might as well get himself a sandwich while he was at it. He walked by the rippling pulse near the coffee machine - studiously ignoring the event - a sardonic grin breaking his face in two.