Daily Journal Entry #16

My legs don’t even touch the floor. I remember thinking that as I wiggled on top of the crinkly white sheet. I could hear the rustle of the paper echo off the cold, sterile walls of the doctor’s office. I imagined myself in a cloud…it was much easier to deal with soft smooth edges of my mind than the frigid, point edges of the counter, the table, the chair. Smells weird in here, I thought, sniffing the air and feeling my lungs swell with anticipation. The door swung open heavily, but the doctor caught it before it slammed against the wall. His arm hung cleverly out of sight but somewhere in my head I knew I didn’t want to know that there was about the syringe grasped between his knuckle-y fingers. I shut my eyes tight when he placed his hand on my air and let out the longest, most shrill scream inside my tiny five year-old body. No way are gonna poke me with that, mister.