More NaNoWriMo out of context crap. There are huge errors and things that DO NOT MAKE ANY SENSE but it's a draft so please pretend they are not there otherwise I will cry.

The waiting room was deserted except for a young mother and her two sons. One looked about four and was lying limply in his mothers' arms, all feverish and cranky. The other kid was about seven and flitted around the room, bouncing on the chairs.

"Adam! Sit down and be quiet!"

"But Muuuu-um. When do we get to home?"

"As soon as we get Patrick's x-ray back from the doctor."

"What's an x-ray?"

"It where the doctor takes a special picture of Patrick's bones to see if there's an infection in his chest, making him sick."

"Will we get to see his guts?"

"No, Adam."

"Bor-ring."

He hopped around from one foot to the other, then spied a big wallchart with a picture of a skeleton on it. It had been there for years, I remember the doctor pointing out the relevant bone on the very same chart when I fell out of the cubbyhouse and broke my arm all those years ago.

"Loooook, Patrick!" The kid made his voice all low and spooky. "It's your bones! Ya bonnnnnnnes!"

The little one could barely lift his head but watched his brother intently with glassy brown eyes.

"And here's ya arms. And here's ya legs," Adam went on in a chirpier tone, pointing to each spot like a weatherman. "And ya knees and ya elbows!"

Then his voice dropped, as deep and Vincent Price-ish as a seven-year-old can muster. "And here... is... your skuuuuull."

His mother rolled her eyes and looked up at the clock, "When's that bloody doctor coming?"

Adam had discovered a cupboard full of crutches. He selected a tiny one and hobbled across the floor. "Mum, mum, look at me! I've got a bad leg!"

He pulled out a larger crutch about twice his height and tried to hoist himself up on it. After crashing to the floor three times, he slung it across his body like a gun, making those sound effects that only little boys seem to be able to do, like psssssssshowwwwwwwwww!, and the one that sounds like an explosion and requires a lot of spit in the mouth to pull off.

"Adam. Put. The crutch. Away." His mother's ponytail was fraying around her hairline in damp tendrils.

The boy sighed heavily then looked around for something new to do. I smiled sympathetically at the mother and she lifted the corners of her mouth very faintly in reply.

"Mum, mum, look at me!"

He had climbed up onto a trolley bed in the corner. He lay on his back with his arms at his sides.

"What are you doing Adam?"

"I'm Claire!"

"Who?"

He lay very still then suddenly shouted, "CLAIRE!"

He jerked his body up and down like he was having a fit, then collapsed back onto the bed. He rubbed his hands together vigorously then slammed them down onto his chest.

"CLAIRE!" he shouted again, jolting his little body into the air.

He caught me staring at him, and rolled his eyes impatiently. "You know, like on the telly. On the doctor show! When the people have heart attacks someone always yells for Claire."

"Oh yes, Claire! Of course!"

He lay back down again and performed his defibrillating routine a few more times.

The little one was starting to cry. The mother looked like she was about to cry too.

"Adam, sit still and be quiet!"

He slumped down on the bed, arms and legs out rigid. He gave a slow, wheezy gasp. It looked like we'd lost the patient. His eyes went wide and blank, his mouth opened and tongue flopped out. Not even mouth to mouth from Claire could save this one.

I thought his mother would weep with relief when the doctor finally appeared with Patrick's x-rays. They were herded off to another room to view them. Adam trailed along, firing his crutch/lethal weapon at pot plants and random hospital staff.

Moments later the nurse appeared and announced that Jeanne and her brand new baby were ready for their photo. I rummaged through my bag for the soft-focus filter as I walked past the x-ray room.

"Patrick! Look at ya bones! Ya look like a chicken! Little chicken bones! Ahahaha!"