Spoiler
My theme was: A teacher in a doctor's office pointing at random bits of the sky. I know I didn't focus a lot on the teacher and bits of the sky part, but Nate didn't specify if they had to be key parts of the story 
Also, it's 1000 words on the dot.
Also, it's 1000 words on the dot.In a doctor’s office, there’s always an odd assortment of people. There’s the grandmother figure who suffers from severe arthritis but you can tell that doesn’t stop her when she pulls out a picture of herself horse-racing. You can’t help but admire her tenacity. And two seats down sits a quiet teenager, drably dressed in a black sweat shirt, black jeans, black shoes. Don’t ignore the thin, brown lines scratched across pale arms, like the intricate lines of a wilting rose.
Down farther is a mother clung by her two blond little ones and when the mother removes an auburn wig, you know only what has plagued her and the children that depend so desperately on this woman. A sympathetic tear slides smoothly down my cheek.
And why I am here? For a simple check-up? It seems redundant now, watching all these troubled, unfortunate souls. I cross my legs and adjust my grey blazer, stealing a look around the room before sneakily reaching over sideways to grab a magazine. I position it squarely in front of my face so I don’t have to see the death and depression surrounding me so immediately.
I suddenly feel a slight pressure near my calf and then the somewhat painful feeling of a sharp bone digging into the muscle. I close my magazine with a slap and look down at my leg where it seems a little boy has comfortably snuggled in.
“May I help you?” I ask with a stiff smile. The boy looks up with a pointed and sallow face.
“Your leg is a pillow.”
I’d really like to inform him that he’s mistaken, and that my leg is one-hundred-percent a lower limb, but I decide to let it pass. Who am I to ruin a child’s fun?
“It is, isn’t it?” I respond, my tone only a bit strained. “What’s your name?”
“You tell me yours first.” The boy’s eyes twinkle mischievously. He’s challenging me.
“No, you.” And the fun begins.
“No, you say first.”
“Nuh-uh. You.” Did I seriously just say “nuh-uh”?
“Yeah-huh.”
“Nuh-uh.”
A woman’s strong voice, who I assume must be this boy’s mother, answers for me: “Thomas, get off that woman’s leg!”
I can’t contain my laughter and soon enough, tears are rolling down my face. If this was a library or a bookstore or a conference, I would be kicked out. But, here, in a saddened doctor’s office, the laughter visibly cheers up the patients slightly. Even the lips of the somber adolescent twinge, if ever so subtly.
A doctor’s assistant garbed in purple scrubs comes out and calls for a Bradan. The teen rises slowly and lethargically follows the assistant. I silently send a prayer to the heavens asking for Bradan’s well-being.
I’ve also noticed that the little boy, Thomas, has not moved from his post at my leg. Instead, he’s gazing up at me with interest. His blue eyes are fluid and possess an intense expression, one that’s both soothing and unnerving somehow.
“You never told me your name,” he says eventually.
“That’s true,” I reply seriously. Thomas appeared rather mature for his age. “I’m Lorraine.”
“That’s a pretty name. Where do you work?” Thomas turns around and end up crossing his legs before me. He clearly intends to talk for a bit longer.
“I’m a teacher at an elementary school.”
“Oh, that’s cool. I’m in the second grade,” Thomas says proudly. His smile appears to stretch ear to ear. He stands up and throws his arms forward, taking hold of a free hand. “Stand up!”
I do as he wants and stand, only to tower over him. That’s when I notice the scars in the crook of his left arm. “What’s that?” I poke at them.
Thomas’s face suddenly dulls and the smile is wiped from his thin, pale lips. “That’s nothing.” He runs over to his mother and I’m suddenly confused. I return to my seat, a previous sullenness dropping like a claustrophobic blanket over the patients in the doctor’s waiting room.
I’m called in by the lady in purple. As she leads me like a little puppy on an invisible leash to my designated room, I pass one, door slightly open. There I see Bradan and, in his hands, a white form. The header reads Admission to Children’s Hospital: Psych. I feel like running in to this boy and hugging him. But he doesn’t know me so I’m not sure it would have the intended effect.
Finally, the lady and I, the puppy, reach my room which is all the way at the other end. She tells me to sit and wait for the doctor. And then the doctor comes in, asks me the needless questions, checks me over and sends me out. That was quick, I think.
This time, I can return myself back to the waiting room to pay the doctor fee. But instead of directly going to the desk, I take a detour and find myself at the threshold of Bradan’s temporary room.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi?” Bradan’s tone is teetering on the edge of a whisper and I lean in to better hear him. “Hi,” he repeats.
“I know you don’t know me, but I have something to show you.” I look at him questioningly, silently asking the obvious question, Will you follow me?
He nods and stands, not at all reluctant to leave the Psych Ward admission form on the stiff, scratchy cot. I take his shoulder and gently push him out into the hallway. We’re lucky it’s empty.
We head over to an area of windows where the sky is the most visible. It’s blue and bright and joyful. Just what Bradan is in need of. I point up at a cloud.
“Heaven is nice, but life is better.” I say to Bradan, smiling. He smiles this time.
“Ice cream is better.” Thomas walks up behind me, licking some out of a bowl. “Especially when it’s your last.”
My tears run freely.
