Echoes on cold floors
1295 Words
CALIFORNIA. LOS ANGELES.
4:43
The world is quieter now, wrapped in a stillness that feels almost unreal. Only a few sounds break through — the soft footsteps of someone walking by, fading quickly into the distance; the sharp bark of a dog echoing down the street, then silence again; and every so often, the low hum of a car passing, its engine fading like a whisper.
Everything else is hushed, like the world is holding its breath.
POV : Clara
I tightly held the duvet and jerked my eyes open, only to find myself stuck—trapped in a deep stillness. The world around me felt so small. I stared at the rough ceiling of my room, tried to move, but couldn’t. I gulped.
"Sleep paralysis."
I struggled to move, trying hard, desperate—but suddenly, I felt a drop of liquid. That’s when I realized I was crying. No sound, no movement—just silent tears. It felt as if the world around me had ended, and I was drowning in endless pain.
---
I tried desperately to make a sound, but nothing came. Then, as if the frozen world suddenly began to melt, sensation rushed back in—a wave of fear and helplessness stretching endlessly inside me.
After exactly ten seconds—the longest ten seconds of my life—the paralysis slowly began to fade. My fingers twitched. Then my toes. Relief washed over me as I regained control, the room gradually coming back into focus. Familiar sounds from the outside returned, grounding me in reality once more.
I wiped away the tears and took a deep breath, grateful for the release.
I quickly sat up, hurriedly grabbed the water bottle next to me, and drank in a rush, breathing heavily.
"Not this s**t again," I whispered, voice barely audible, still trembling from the aftershocks.
Sigh..
I look outside the window — it's barely early morning
" morning" I mutter sarcastically.
I stand and walk over, staring out at the silent world. The calm feels like it’s mocking the mess inside me. I rest my forehead against the cold glass and close my eyes, tired.
It wasn’t supposed to come back again.
I’m fine… at least better than before.
Chuckle — bitter, dry.
And yet here it is, creeping back in like it never left.
How am I supposed to call myself a therapist when I’m still tangled in my own past?
Still carrying pieces I swore I’d already let go of.
But it’s not like I don’t love this work.
I do. I really do.
I listen to people — their fears, their pain, their chaos —
and I help them untangle it, piece by piece.
Isn’t that why I chose this path?
Pushed through years of study, earned my license, carved a place in this world.
Five years in now. A professional.
Respected. Trusted.
And yet, some days…
Some days, it feels like I’m still just learning how to breathe.
After a few minutes, I straighten up with another sigh.
“It’s no use... not like I can sleep now anyway.”
I walk to the bathroom, close the door, turn on the light.
I take off my clothes and step into the shower.
Once inside, I let the water run down as I close my eyes.
---
I come out, wrapped in a robe, steam clinging to my skin.
"At least the shower was nice," I mutter, rubbing my hair with the towel.
I walk to the closet, dragging my feet a little, and open the doors slowly.
Time to get ready — whether I feel like it or not.
Come out wearing a white collared shirt, black cardigan, cream high-waisted pleated trousers, dark belt, and a brown shoulder bag.
Look at the mirror.
"Mhm, okay."
Walk outside the room to the kitchen.
Make coffee and heat up toast, spreading butter on it.
Place everything on a tray and carry it to the couch.
Set the tray on the table and sit down.
Glance at the clock — 6:15.
Nod quietly and pick up a file from the table to read while having breakfast.
.....
---
Client Name: Lex Smith
Age: 13
Date of Report: [September 24 , 2024]
Background Information:
Lex Smith is a 13-year-old adolescent and the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Smith. Lex currently resides with both parents in a stable home environment.
Presenting Concerns:
Lex has been referred for therapy due to ongoing issues with anxiety, particularly social anxiety, and signs of emotional distress related to past school experiences. Parents report that Lex struggles with academic performance and often expresses feelings of self-doubt and low self-esteem.
History:
In Lex's previous school, they experienced repeated bullying. The bullying was primarily centered around academic difficulties and being perceived as a “weak student.” These negative experiences have left a lasting impact, contributing to Lex’s social withdrawal, nervousness in group settings, and reluctance to participate in class.
--
"Mmm… insecurities. Social anxiety"
The usual thoughts swirling in the back of my mind.
I nodded to myself as I finished the last bite of breakfast. The warmth of the coffee lingered, but it didn’t settle the nerves.
I picked up my bag, grabbed my phone and keys from the counter, and took a slow breath.
Stepping outside, I paused for a second before locking the door behind me. The world felt too quiet — or maybe just too loud in my head.
--
Walk to the parked car, unlock it, slide into the seat, and start the engine. Without thinking, begin driving down the same familiar route — the routine path.
Park the car carefully in the usual spot.
_--
POV : Reader
Turn off the engine — the sudden silence almost loud in itself. Sit still for a moment, then push the door open and step out.
She stepped out of the car, the door shutting with a soft thud behind her. A quiet sigh escaped as her eyes rose to the tall hospital building, its clean lines and glass panels reflecting the soft morning light. Familiar. Cold. Unmoving.
With a slow breath, she walked forward, shoes clicking lightly against the pavement. The path was wide and open, leading her straight to the main entrance — the same doors she passed through every day. Motion-sensor glass parted without a sound, welcoming her into the calm, conditioned air of the hospital.
Inside, everything smelled faintly of disinfectant and something softer — like fresh paper and brewed coffee. She nodded at the front desk staff, gave a half-smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and made her way down the polished corridor. Each step echoed slightly.
She turned into her office — beige walls, clean shelves, soft lighting. A quiet space meant for listening. For healing. She shut the door behind her, letting the outside world fall away, just for a moment.
Then she sat, placed her bag down, and let herself exhale fully.
The day was about to begin.
- Writer
