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Suri Purefoy

United States

"Step into a scene and let it drip from your fingertips." MJ Bush
Be the person you can only be. Write what only you can write. Never look back. You have something that you and only you can put into the world. So don't hold it back. Let it shine!

Message to Readers

This is a novel I'm in the process of. Honest feedback is always appreciated(especially in this case) but also your feelings toward the piece and just, well, anything!

Carson, Stanley

November 9, 2015

Sammi was bored. Bored out of her skull.
    The clock tick-tocked loudly, vibrating in her ears. Its flat musty plastic face frowned, the hour hand pointing one tick mark past the fourth big one, the minute hand stretching to the seventh large faded coal mark. The cheap white paper behind seemed wrinkled and leathery where the hands stretched outward, as if they were forcing that frown, making the sad expression painful.
    Sammi stared at the clock’s face,  turning her little head this way and that, her chin resting in her soft palm. She’d been trying to cheer that face up, make him smile, maybe even giggle. But twenty minutes had gone by without one crack of a grin from that gloomy face. The longer black arrow had just ticked slowly by, seeming to torture his face even more so.
    She’d finally gotten bored, her large adventurous mind capacity craving for something other than trying to make a clock smile, but she didn’t know what to do.
    The desk lady had left a while ago, declaring to the little girl that she had to go get some lunch. There was no one to talk to now. So she sat and continued staring.
    Then something caught her attention.
    Faint little voices made her round ears perk.
    The whispers had angelic voices that lifted the dullness of the hospital waiting hall, making things lighter like they might begin to float suspended in the air any second.
    Sammi’s head turned and her eyes roamed down the long hallway. No lights were on. The hall was black and gray, seeming to taunt her. But the whispers were coming from there, at the end of the hall.
    Putting her little hands down on her plastic chair she slid to the floor, her pink flip-flops making a splooshy sound on the tile flooring.
    She walked down the hallway, following the whispers. But as she walked forward, the light gray doors seemed to stretch far further than they should, sneering down at her little frame and taunting Sammie to take another step. She looked up at them, a strange feeling she’d felt before clutching at her breast, but Sammi went forward.
    Confidence, that sweet fearlessness that only a child can possess, flurried in Sammie as she walked forward.
    Her eyes drifted, looking for the whispering people that she sought. The gray ghost doors barred devilish fangs at the girl as she walked past, but they did not do anything but try to frighten.
    Sammi walked forward, looking for something, anything.
    Then something seemed to glimmer.
    Sammi smiled and reached her hand out, putting both of her hands out then grasping the warm glowing doorknob in her palms. Then she opened the door and stepped in.  
    The room was small with shabby white walls, tiled hospital flooring, and one window. The window was small and almost a perfect square, default to the odd chunk that was missing on the upper right corner. The glass was dusty and partially shattered, gray and blurred with greasy smeared fingerprints and the dust that had lived there for who-knows-how-long.     Cream colored caulking edged the inside of the window, where it drooped into the wall. The stuff looked like wild waves, shot upwards in crazy motions, kind of wrinkled to one side.
    There was also a bed. It looked pretty new, a tad dusty but not much. A thin light blue blanket was folded neatly over ruffled white bed sheets, giving a strange but nice look. A small, plastic-looking wooden side table stood beside it. Except for those, the room was bare.
    Sammi took another step in, her six year old mind swirling with excitement for the new room to explore.
    She put her arms out on either side of her body and stretched each finger as far as they would go. Then she walked around the room.
    Sammi’s fingers brushed dusty blanket sheets, tugging at the fabric then letting it drop back into place. She closed her eyes and let her feet roam her around the small room. Her arms and fingers and hands swiped against everything; the walls, the bed, the side table. But when she got to the window, Sammi stopped and opened her eyes.
    Something was tickling her arm, brushing cool air against her skin. Sammi turned and faced the window, looking at it with a tilted head. Her arm went up and she stretched out her slender little palm, right where the air was coming through.  
    The cool draft felt nice and Sammi smiled, putting her hand up against the window.
    Then her eyes danced around the room and the smile widened, spreading across her cheeks.    

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