Write a descriptive piece about waiting in a waiting room. It can be at the doctor's or dentist's office or at the principal's office at school, any place you want. You may be waiting for an interview because you are in trouble or for a painful medical appointment. Use this concept as the basis of your writing piece.
The white room that smelt of peppermint and not an inch of dust was eerily empty. It was a small room with an elegant white chair and table that was empty and clean except for a single black pen that sat on the side of the table waiting to be used. A battered old couch was pushed to the corner of the room and two cupboards filled with untouched books were neatly placed against the walls. Outside of the small window behind the couch was a single road that weaved across the highway, empty of cars and life. The boy tiptoed into the sterilised room and shivered, it wasn't cold but he felt like he had entered a world filled with snow. He felt every breath against his chest and fear welled up inside of him waiting for an answer. The seconds or minutes that passed seemed to take an eternity. His heart thumped faster than his thoughts which were the only moving thing in the room. "Get a grip, Tom, what would dad say?" He scolded himself, and listening to his father's words, he closed off any emotion that showed in his face and tried to slow down his heartbeat.
The four bleached walls in the room seemed to close in on Tom making him shrink and hunk over. The sight would have been frightful as he looked almost possessed or in pain. Turning over he pulled up his back and took a long breath. He didn't know why, but people often told him to take a breath or calm down, everyone but his father did so anyways. His mother was gone for a holiday in a faraway country, or so he had been told since he was seven. His father was a respected man but Tom didn't know why, he didn't know a lot of things that his father kept him safe from. "The world," he said would swallow up such a small boy like himself and he had to be looked after." Often he referred to Tom that way, small boy or little boy, he got angry at times saying he was a useless little thing.
Tom realised that his cheeks were cold and wet. Furiously he wiped them and heard a small whimper leave his mouth. It wasn't fair the way his father treated him, he had done nothing to deserve the negligence. His father had told him to wait for him in his room and didn't give him a reason. As abrupt as ever he had closed the door on Tom and left him to fear what was coming. Angrily he stomped out of the room and into the lounge "I am a big boy and I deserve as much respect as you do, I will not listen to you ordering me around anymore!" He watched in horror as his father turned to face him red in the face next to a woman with the same eyes as Tom.
The Waiting room
The white room that smelt of peppermint and not an inch of dust was eerily empty. It was a small room with an elegant white chair and table that was empty and clean except for a single black pen that sat on the side of the table waiting to be used. A battered old couch was pushed to the corner of the room and two cupboards filled with untouched books were neatly placed against the walls. Outside of the small window behind the couch was a single road that weaved across the highway, empty of cars and life. The boy tiptoed into the sterilised room and shivered, it wasn't cold but he felt like he had entered a world filled with snow. He felt every breath against his chest and fear welled up inside of him waiting for an answer. The seconds or minutes that passed seemed to take an eternity. His heart thumped faster than his thoughts which were the only moving thing in the room. "Get a grip, Tom, what would dad say?" He scolded himself, and listening to his father's words, he closed off any emotion that showed in his face and tried to slow down his heartbeat.
The four bleached walls in the room seemed to close in on Tom making him shrink and hunk over. The sight would have been frightful as he looked almost possessed or in pain. Turning over he pulled up his back and took a long breath. He didn't know why, but people often told him to take a breath or calm down, everyone but his father did so anyways. His mother was gone for a holiday in a faraway country, or so he had been told since he was seven. His father was a respected man but Tom didn't know why, he didn't know a lot of things that his father kept him safe from. "The world," he said would swallow up such a small boy like himself and he had to be looked after." Often he referred to Tom that way, small boy or little boy, he got angry at times saying he was a useless little thing.
Tom realised that his cheeks were cold and wet. Furiously he wiped them and heard a small whimper leave his mouth. It wasn't fair the way his father treated him, he had done nothing to deserve the negligence. His father had told him to wait for him in his room and didn't give him a reason. As abrupt as ever he had closed the door on Tom and left him to fear what was coming. Angrily he stomped out of the room and into the lounge "I am a big boy and I deserve as much respect as you do, I will not listen to you ordering me around anymore!" He watched in horror as his father turned to face him red in the face next to a woman with the same eyes as Tom.