Fabric covered fingers slip into gap.
The hull splinters open.
A tiny, grass green nut in the palm.
Hand to mouth.
Repeat process.
Thumbs bend.
Fabric covered fingers slip over gap.
The hull does not splinter open.
There is no tiny, grass green nut in palm.
No hand to mouth.
No process to repeat.
He struggles with a khaki colored nut like a starved man, quite bestial in his attempts. When the gloves hinder his nails from really digging into the almost sealed casing, it sends him into a frenzy. He’s fighting the nut with a force one would use to open a stuck jar. Prying with coated fingers, pushing to crush, and even twisting the sides just to get it to crack open.
I wonder how important this nut is to him, and why he does not move on to another one. Perhaps one that’s easier to overcome so that he is not stressing himself so much. I say this because at this point, his solo fight has moved itself over in my direction, and I’m forced to lean away. I clear my throat slowly and after a while let my eyes focus on something more awkward than his battle.
He’s wearing all jet-black clothing. His head is hidden by some ski mask-hat thing, and the rest of him clad in black. His hands are in worn looking gloves and these gloves are making it harder for him to open the nut. I do not know why he does not just take off the gloves, nor move on to another nut, and I do not ask.
I only stare. I stare because nobody else has dared to. That, or they are all somehow ignorant to the strange display that it going on in this waiting room. Their eyes are either drifting to the forever closed door, or are being ushered away by shutting eye lids. I do not blame them, though. It is warm and silent in here. Even the nut-struggle is quiet in its own way, and only a faint buzz of a heater by the wall is to be heard.
I myself would be quite comfortable if it weren’t for a couple of things. The ever-lingering nervousness I’m feeling for my upcoming job interview, or the continuous war of the nut and the ninja.
I know it sounds insane; why a ninja would be battling a nut.
Wait- no, I know it sounds insane that there’s a ninja sitting in the waiting room.
...That’s not so right either. I know it sounds insane that there’s even a ninja.
Believe me, it took me the first ten minutes of walking in to get used to that.
“Want one?”
If I hadn’t been so nervous I would probably still be in shock.
“Huh?”
A ninja isn’t a very common thing, you understand. But in comparison, nervousness is surprisingly very strong.
“Would you like a pistachio?”
Now a ninja that by chance is in the same waiting room as you are is definitely not something you’d be expecting.
“Me?”
You’d most likely see a ninja running through the starless-night streets, leaping from building to building, and doing what ninjas do. Like from the comics I’d found once up in my attic.
“Yeah... you’ve been staring at me and my pistachios for the past half hour, and I was thinking... well, maybe you wanted one.”
Can ninjas smile? That is a stupid question, of course they can. Yet it isn’t exactly the clearest thing to see, but it kind of looks like he is.
“Oh... no thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Positive?”
“Absolutely.”
Ninjas are very persistent, this is what I am picking up on. Maybe it is in their genes to never give up or something.
“What are you here for?”
I can make a theory out of this. Maybe do a survey of the Modern Ninja versus the... non- modern ninja? Write an article, or a book.
“Job interview.”
Maybe just a poem will do.
“Oh me too.”
A ninja eating pistachios in the same waiting room as me waiting for a job interview. What a coinky-dink.
I shift as the door swings open.
Thumbs bend.
Fabric covered fingers slip over gap.
The hull does not splinter open.
There is no tiny, grass green nut in palm.
No hand to mouth.
No process to repeat.
A man motions to me and I stand up. The ninja and I exchange a glance. Through the slit on the face, I see eyes that I cannot understand looking up at me.
“Would you like a pistachio?”
Mental note: Definitely persistent.
“No.”
I exit the waiting room, leaving the pistachio ninja to his own.
Somehow I’m not so nervous anymore.
Spoiler
Edit: Lol. Oh yeah, the story theme from the generator was, "Your story is about a ninja in a waiting room eating pistachios."
I waited a while for someone else to review this and leave a fantastically helpful review, but it didn't happen, so you're stuck with my review which is all praise and no criticism. 
