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by Maeve Landers, age 12

When we walked into the doctor’s office, a strong waft of mildew and rot hit our noses. My brother made a face but I nudged him not to be rude. But it was very strong. It was very quiet and all I could hear was the tiny voice of classical music, Beethoven’s 5th, I think. The reception lady at the desk looked over at us and we went to check ourselves in. While over there answering the questions I noticed she never blinked and while she breathed it looked to me like she didn’t want to but she knew she had to. She had thin greasy hair and big circles under her eyes. It looked like she hadn’t slept in years but that’s impossible because she’d be dead. When we sat down my brother said this place gave him the creeps. That’s understandable; I mean the dim flickering lights, occasional strong gust of cold wind, and the eerie silence could be off putting for some people. But it was the only place we could afford. It was very cheap for a doctor’s office but at least we got okay care. When the old doctor calls us in for our monthly shots, as long as I can remember, Doc Jennings has had the same dead stare: always looking at you but it never feels like it.

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