Waiting at the pharmacy.

[languich]

At the SLV

I sit out front waiting for my prescription to be filled – the cars pushed along on an invisible current –
Nothing means anything more than what it is when waiting like this, watching the lights change, and the cars in the stream.
I choose to patronize this pharmacy because it is locally owned and even in my addictions my social conscience won’t shut up. Also they are fast. Most I ever waited was fifteen minutes. A visit to Walgreen’s often results in one hour of watching the lights change from red to green to yellow and back.

The last time I found myself at Walgreen’s the SLV was closed pending a burglary investigation, and while waiting, I saw a young lady in a minivan pull to the drive thru. She passed a thin stack of prescriptions through the slot beneath the window. The pharmacist routinely thumbed through but paused to scrutinizing one closely. He spoke into the microphone telling her it would be only a few minutes. I waited indoors that day because the wind was like a wire brush.

She must have had a dozen cameras drilling down on her out there, they had her name, face, and she was completely beyond recourse. I watched her thru the window while I listened to one side of the conversation the pharmacist was having with the police over the phone, he used the words prescription and fraud.

Outside, she tapped her finger on the steering wheel in time to some song. She had no idea the hammer was about to fall, listening to that song, counting all those pills in her head. I remember thinking that after this, every time she hears that song, whatever song it may have been, the violent terror of red handed cuffs clamping shut, cold cell withdraws and all the lost time, would creep thru her again, forever.

I said a little prayer that it wasn’t a song that meant something, a song that made her drink too much and dance on tables, or one that mulched up memories of a love worth remembering, even one that made washing the dishes a little less tedious, or one that swept away the pain for a moment like those pills she would never receive.

The SLV, the local place that is my regular, has been robbed three times in the past two months.

As I sit here waiting now for my prescription to be filled, I cannot erase the image of that woman’s face as it was changed by the realization brought on by three cruisers bearing down in slow motion meteoric velocity and with hardly a sound. In an instant it was as if she realized she had died, yet kept on breathing, and wishing she had.

 

[ForEverAfter]

Yeah, I like it. Needs a bit of a tweak, here and there - and it wraps up a bit too abruptly - but, I still found it engaging. There were a couple of quote-worthy sentences / passages throughout. Particularly, these sections:

I waited indoors that day because the wind was like a wire brush.

...she tapped her finger on the steering wheel in time to some song... counting all those pills in her head... no idea the hammer was about to fall... I remember thinking every time she hears that song - whatever song it may have been - the violent terror of red handed cuffs clamping shut, cold cell withdraws, and all the lost time, would creep thru her again...

It's a good start. I don't think it needs to be too much longer. It actually works better as short as possible, in my opinion. But I would like to see something happen at the end, in the frame narrative. The narrator character, your protagonist, is sitting there waiting for his script. This is the frame narrative, or the "storyteller" narrative. There are at least two stories: the frame narrative, in which the protagonist waits for his prescription; and the flashback regarding the young lady he saw being arrested. Currently, nothing happens in the frame. He's just sitting there, waiting for his prescription. It's static.

Nothing has to physically happen, but there needs to be more of a reason for the frame narrative to be there. Is your current protagonist the best character to frame the story around? There must be something revealed from his position. The fact that he's an external third-party - that he can step outside the story - isn't enough. Specifically, he should have a part to play.

Currently, the character empathises with the young woman in the story. But, we need to know more. Even just a hint or a suggestion. What is it about his character that makes him empathetic towards her, or towards people arrested for drug-related crimes? Does he do drugs? Is he waiting on a prescription for something recreational, himself, maybe? There has to be a reason. Well, no, actually, there doesn't really. I mean, if he's empathetic for no reason other than being open-minded and non-judgemental, that's fine. He's a genuinely nice guy. No tricks up his sleeves. But, it doesn't make much of an interesting story.

You don't need to reveal too much, we just need something. Doesn't matter what it is and you can be as subtle as you like. Okay? Though, not so faint that it's inaudible. Or so cryptic, that the only person who could possibly ever work it out is you. The narration is already pretty full. You don't want to make it too easy for the reader by overloading it with unnecessary details. This is especially true for short works of fiction. If the narrator explains too much, it might ruin a surprise or two down the road. In most situations, it's best to keep your cards off the table for as long as possible. Say absolutely nothing, whatsoever, unless you need to. The bare minimum and not a single word more.

I don't need to be told your character's motivation - I don't even need to know what it is - I just need to feel it. And, at the moment, I'm not getting much aside from this as-yet unexplained tendency to empathize with drug addicts. Which is hardly adequate to sustain an entire narrative: short; or, otherwise.

I believe there is a reason you sat down to write this. Something, specifically, that you wanted to express. It reads as if it's based fairly closely, in terms of speech and action, on an actual event. If that's the case, elaborate on how you felt when you were watching her. Beyond empathy. Include yourself in your observations.

Every funeral we attend is our own. Being confronted by a loved one's death, you can't help but being confronted by your own mortality. Then you'll probably experience guilt and shame, having failed to remain selfless. People are inherently selfish and, also, extremely complex. Surely your protagonist must have felt something else, upon seeing that woman being arrested. If so, either hint at it or directly incorporate it into the story somehow.

You've almost got a complete and functional piece of fiction. In fact, you're too close to back down now. The concept is definitely worthy of experimentation. A third party observing this particular scenario is okay, because it's relatively unusual. I still think you should do something to reduce the static, but that's not important right now. You need to offer enough value to justify the continuation of your existence. You need to re-write this a couple of times. Take some time to dwell on the feedback I've provided you.

 

[dirzted]

I love this story languich you sir are a good writer

 

[paranoid android]

Fuckin hell does that sound all to familiar . Very engaging though and a good story so keep it up.

 

[cj]

Good read.

 

[dirzted]

seriously just looked up "Waiting at the pharmacy" on google because I vaguely remembered this and how good it was... cannot believe I got the title exactly right almost 2 years later, shows how good of a piece it is i guess.

"Outside, she tapped her finger on the steering wheel in time to some song. She had no idea the hammer was about to fall, listening to that song, counting all those pills in her head. I remember thinking that after this, every time she hears that song, whatever song it may have been, the violent terror of red handed cuffs clamping shut, cold cell withdraws and all the lost time, would creep thru her again, forever.

I said a little prayer that it wasn’t a song that meant something, a song that made her drink too much and dance on tables, or one that mulched up memories of a love worth remembering, even one that made washing the dishes a little less tedious, or one that swept away the pain for a moment like those pills she would never receive.

The SLV, the local place that is my regular, has been robbed three times in the past two months.

As I sit here waiting now for my prescription to be filled, I cannot erase the image of that woman’s face as it was changed by the realization brought on by three cruisers bearing down in slow motion meteoric velocity and with hardly a sound. In an instant it was as if she realized she had died, yet kept on breathing, and wishing she had."

 

[Treefa]

Seeing the title, I didn't think i'd like this, thought it'd be another poem about drugs and how great they are, lol, but that was pretty good.....my pharmacy sure is boring after reading this!

 

[Opalescence]

I really enjoyed feeling the empathy for the woman who was arrested. I was able to create such a clear image in my head of the story. It was like a sad movie. Sad in more than one way.