On Call |Elizabeth Naarc|
Posted: 21 Sep 2013, 23:54
Faint lights glimmer off the tile floors in the dark hallways of this hospital. Corbin, having been an intern for a short amount of time, is sitting in the on-call room. This is his first night being such (on call). Sleep, not going to happen, he’s sure of it. So the human is sure that there is no reason for him to bother. His fingers move through his hair and he leans his head back against the wall. The seating and furniture in this room, like most rooms in hospitals, is just enough to look appropriate. In all reality it’s silver gilded crap with vomit inside that’s infested with flesh eating parasites. This is why the long haired man often refrains from rooms of patients that are not ‘his’, though technically none of the people are his responsibility. This is because error found done by him, falls on the shoulders of the surgeon over him. So, he just sits, remembering the last person that came in. It wasn’t that big of a problem, amputation of a forearm. The kid that had come in had been in a car accident, arm nearly ripped off. Corbin rethinks over the tear, not cut, that the arm sustained. It ripped at the elbow, a **** way to lose a limb.
The door opens, more than the crack that he had made, but there is no one standing there. Staring into the empty space that the door reveals, past it to the other side of the hallway, Corbin finally shakes it off. Every now and then he gets this feeling that something is watching him, or someone. Being a man with the strong belief of science, he has hardly ever had the belief in spirits or ghosts. On the other hand, there is really no other way to describe that feeling that he gets when he’s alone sometimes. That feeling that he’s not really alone at all, and since he came to Harpers Rock for his internship that feeling has become more and more prevalent no matter where he is. Sometimes, he swears he’s not the only one. He’s been in parts of town and hears things about spirits and people calling them. He assumes this to be just some sort of ******** séance that people have claimed to do for ages. This, of course, is just one of the many things that have brought him to the conclusion that this city isn’t completely right for him. Come the soonest opportunity (career wise) he will be taking himself somewhere else.
Finally, removing himself from the chair, he moves through the threshold of the door. The chill makes the hair on his neck stand on end as if he has just been shocked. Once both feet are in the hallway, he stands there like a deer in the headlights and looks both ways for a moment. It’s been quiet since the kid with the ripped arm, oddly quiet. In the distance, past the walls, along the streets, he can hear the sound of sirens. An ambulance is on the way which means that he might have another case on his hands. He’s found out, since being here, that even bullet wounds come down on surgeons rather than physicians. Turning down the hall, walking toward where the ambulance will bring the person, possibly corpse, when it gets here. He waits, leaning forward and watches the doors for the team of paramedics, and the gurney with the ‘patient’. He has a look of disinterest in his eyes, just looking past the desk, past the doors, past the outside to somewhere else, almost hearing a voice again.
The door opens, more than the crack that he had made, but there is no one standing there. Staring into the empty space that the door reveals, past it to the other side of the hallway, Corbin finally shakes it off. Every now and then he gets this feeling that something is watching him, or someone. Being a man with the strong belief of science, he has hardly ever had the belief in spirits or ghosts. On the other hand, there is really no other way to describe that feeling that he gets when he’s alone sometimes. That feeling that he’s not really alone at all, and since he came to Harpers Rock for his internship that feeling has become more and more prevalent no matter where he is. Sometimes, he swears he’s not the only one. He’s been in parts of town and hears things about spirits and people calling them. He assumes this to be just some sort of ******** séance that people have claimed to do for ages. This, of course, is just one of the many things that have brought him to the conclusion that this city isn’t completely right for him. Come the soonest opportunity (career wise) he will be taking himself somewhere else.
Finally, removing himself from the chair, he moves through the threshold of the door. The chill makes the hair on his neck stand on end as if he has just been shocked. Once both feet are in the hallway, he stands there like a deer in the headlights and looks both ways for a moment. It’s been quiet since the kid with the ripped arm, oddly quiet. In the distance, past the walls, along the streets, he can hear the sound of sirens. An ambulance is on the way which means that he might have another case on his hands. He’s found out, since being here, that even bullet wounds come down on surgeons rather than physicians. Turning down the hall, walking toward where the ambulance will bring the person, possibly corpse, when it gets here. He waits, leaning forward and watches the doors for the team of paramedics, and the gurney with the ‘patient’. He has a look of disinterest in his eyes, just looking past the desk, past the doors, past the outside to somewhere else, almost hearing a voice again.