The Wait

In the dim light of an old, forgotten clinic's waiting room, the chairs were filled with silent figures. Each one sat motionless, their eyes fixed on nothing, as if waiting for an appointment that would never come. The clock on the wall had stopped at 3:33, its hands unmoving, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch further with each passing second.

A new visitor, drawn in by an inexplicable need, entered. The air was thick with the scent of mold and something else, something unmistakably human. As they sat down, the figures didn't acknowledge them, but the room grew colder. Whispering began, faint at first, like the rustle of dead leaves. 

The whispers grew louder, a chorus of voices from the figures, all speaking in unison, 

"We've been waiting for you." 

The visitor tried to stand, to leave, but found themselves rooted to the chair, as if they had always been there, another silent figure in the endless wait.