First Draft

Page 22

When the doctor stood and walked to the door, opening it for Benjamin to leave, it became apparent to Ben that the warrior had dissipated. The doctor then walked back over to the computer cart, in the opposite corner of the room.

“Yeah, Tuesday should be fine.”

The doctor leaned over the desk, scribbling with his pen, “Ok, here is…another…month-long script. By my calculation, you should be down to your last dose by…oh, today actually.” He tore the piece of paper from his notepad and turned to hand it to Benjamin, with a knowing, cheeky grin. Ben reached for the paper. From somewhere behind him, he could hear a faint hiss.

“Could you guys actually call that in for me? I was going to stop on my way to work.”

The clomper marched rhythmically around the corner of one grocery store aisle, and then back down another. Ben could hear it let out a singular yell as it clomped down past the laundry detergent. He glanced at his phone. It wasn’t even 11:00, and he didn’t have any specific time that he needed to make it to work. Though the sooner the better, of course. He was standing in line at the in-store pharmacy, which was, as of yet, fairly short. He had made it before the lunch-hour rush, which he always preferred. He could hear the clomper contentedly thumping its way around the store.

“Name?” asked the assistant at the counter.

“Benjamin D’Amico. My doctor said that he would call in the script. Should have been about a half hour ago.”
“Let me go see,” said the girl, as she moved to the shelves of prescriptions that were ready for pickup.

Ben glanced about the busy pharmacy. Even though it wasn’t lunch time yet, the staff were clearly preparing for a rush – as evidenced by the looks on their faces. Who Ben assumed was the head pharmacist came bursting in through the double doors at the back, an agitated expression on her face. She moved to a small sink, quickly washed her hands, and then went for a paper towel. Ben’s brow furled slightly. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at a distant red and white sign that hung from the ceiling which read, “Linens.” Benjamin turned his head back to the pharmacy.

A horrible, screeching clang rang out from somewhere in the store – the sound of a hole being beaten through a panel of sheet metal with a blunt object. Ben’s eyes and head shot towards his left, at the older woman who was in line behind him. She met his gaze for only a moment, her lips pursed and body rigid, and then averted her eyes down towards her watch.

Ben once again returned his gaze to the space in front of him, though his eyes darted around nervously as he fidgeted with his fingers.

“New towel!” a distant, emotional cry rang out, from somewhere in the vicinity of where the metallic clang had emanated from.

Another, even louder punching sound rang out, followed by another nearly identical cry, “Buy all towel set, idiot!”

The first voice reaffirmed the other by retorting with, “You ruin! You stupid!”

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