Waiting Games

As I sit in the waiting area, I stare at the small sculpture of a horse's head that sits opposite me, firmly positioned on a clinical white stand. The horse looks like he is done waiting, while I am still in the anxious phase, not having reached boredom quite yet.

The room is white, but there are mud stains on the floor from where people have walked. Based on the amount of slush, in front of a chair, you can guess which one was sat on for the longest wait.

My eyes scan the room: right to left, then left to right again. There are framed pictures positioned at regular intervals on the walls. All frames are white, but the pictures are all of a different style and appear to have no common theme. The first one features spring blossoms, the second one a field with workers – what a sad imagine to be looking at – and then some ducks and what looks like New York.

In the middle of all this, there's the horse, and my eyes keep returning to it. It looks so alive that its missing body makes me feel unnerved. Who chose to collect these pieces of art and put them together? Was it random? And why?

I try to imagine what I would have done: what would go nicely with the centerpiece, the horse? I study its lowered head: its kind eyes have a defeated look and I appreciate the work that has gone into the sculpting. The ears look very much alive and I believe they are listening to my thoughts. Good boy, there there. I almost reach out to pet him.

The blue streaks amongst the copper create an admirable illusion of hair and as I stare more and more intensely at the horse right across me in the large waiting room, it starts to float. I swear, it looks like it's moving! The horse head becomes bigger and bigger, until it's right in front of me and the world turns into lovely rainbow colours.

Waiting Games

I feel someone tap me on the arm and I wake up to find myself in a hospital bed. All the walls are white. I waited too long.