In my Creative nonfiction class the professor asked us to describe a room in detail using sensory, metaphors, similes, anything that helps describe it...this is what I wrote.
The walls in the room held two pictures of angels with roses each pointing their soft curls towards each other as if the place wanted me to feel safe even though I was only dressed in paper. The metal sink’s open mouth seemed to laugh at my predicament, as if I should not have come in the first place. There was a simple black plastic chair beside the platform bed. That chair strangely comforted me, perhaps because I knew under normal conditions someone would be holding my hand sitting in that chair, maybe when the time comes for the hysterectomy Dr. Sheridan will allow my friend to come inside until I fall asleep.
The fear of not waking up from the medication enveloped my thoughts. All of a sudden, the walls look as if they are reaching out for me, to confine me in this empty shell. The paper sticks to my body and even the platform bed is opposed to the flesh on my back. The bed’s soft embrace is only temporary until my whole body lays flat waiting for the doctor, and then as if it knows I am alone in the room it contorts to a hard surface keeping me as uncomfortable as possible. The small pillow is rough, it growls in my ear as I move my head to look back at the angelic pictures on the wall.
The air coats my body in a cool wrapper. I place my hands under my back to keep them warm. The fan kicks on from the ceiling and a fresh breeze drifts between my legs. I shiver at the delicate touch of the airs fingertips. My toes are not frozen but they are ice cold when I sit up and place them Indian style under my legs. From the high point of the bed, I can see the white marble textured floor. It is glazed over letting my deformed reflection stare back at me asking how much longer I must wait. My heart pounds in my chest as I hear feet scuffle across the floor outside the room. The door is blocking everyone from view. Its small silver handle turns slowly as if it relishes in my anticipation. The light from the ceiling flickers a quick blink and Dr. Sheridan stands inside the room.