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Weekly Contest #371
My dad is dying. It’s been an hour since coming to this waiting room, if you can call it that. It's only a couch that looked like it belonged to someone’s grandma with a sealed plastic cover and a fold up chair in the corner. My skin keeps getting stuck on the plastic, so I can't help but keep having to move around. It doesn’t help that the air is stagnant too, it’s making me breathe harder than usual. My dad is almost non-existent. He had to leave after my 4th birthday because of my mom’s restraining order against him. The order was ...
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