Rolling Piranha- 適合中高級的英語短篇故事

Cool vinyl pressed against June's forearms as she slipped onto the third chair beside the ticket dispenser. The air-conditioner droned overhead, folding into the crisp click of the digital display. Several higher numbers had already been called by the speaker and cleared from the screen. Number sixty-one glowed; her slip showed sixty-five, so only four turns stood between her and the pharmacy window. A maintenance cart rattled past. A loose chisel struck its tray in a steady metal tap that drowned distant whispers. At the reception counter, spilled hand sanitizer formed a quicksilver ribbon under the pump, flashing whenever the fluorescents flickered. June had planned to collect two prescription bags—vitamins for her grandmother and a small sunscreen for herself. The sliding glass at the pharmacy opened and thudded shut. It opened again, rubber seals marking progress like a calm drumbeat.

Clicks accelerated; sixty-two, sixty-three, then a halt broken by a muffled buzz from the label printer. June rose when sixty-four sounded through the ceiling speaker, smoothing the clipboard against her knee. A rubber toy piranha skittered across the linoleum and bumped her shoe. It spun under the chairs, its hollow body rattling like plastic maracas. Slow progress around her echoed a childhood fable, where persistence walked while haste slept. The speaker called her number, and she approached the window, pens tapping behind the glass. The attendant pointed toward an empty date field; a red indicator blinked twice, and the form slid back across the counter. The old ticket sank into a hopper, and a fresh strip appeared, reading seventy-two. She intuited the wait would now stretch past lunchtime, so she crossed out the sunscreen line and kept the vitamin entry.

Numbers crawled upward with a lazier rhythm: sixty-eight, sixty-nine, then seventy. Door hinges along the hallway groaned, and fluorescent panels buzzed without relief. At last, seventy-two glowed, and June stepped forward, her bag rustling against her leg. The corrected form required no extra comment, and the technician placed a single sealed packet on the counter. Plastic brushed plastic as she tucked the vitamins away. She dropped the unused sunscreen coupon into a blue bin, where it landed with a flat flutter. The automatic doors parted, releasing conditioned air toward the parking canopy, while the ceiling speaker announced seventy-three behind her.

涼爽的塑膠椅面貼在琼的前臂上，當她坐到號碼機旁的第三張椅子時特別明顯。冷氣的低鳴與電子螢幕清脆的跳號聲交織。廣播已經叫過幾個更大的號碼並從螢幕上消失；螢幕亮著 61，而她的號碼是 65，所以窗口前只剩四個人。一台維修手推車嘎嘎經過，一把鬆動的鑿子不停敲打托盤，金屬節奏蓋過遠處細語。接待櫃台旁，溢出的洗手液在按壓器下形成汞色細帶，螢光燈一閃就反射光芒。琼原本打算領兩包處方袋——一袋維他命給奶奶，還有一瓶小容量防曬乳給自己。藥局的滑門打開又闔上，再度打開，橡膠封條像平穩鼓點記錄進度。

點號聲加快：62、63，然後標籤印表機悶響打斷節奏。天花板喇叭叫到 64 時，琼起身，把夾板在膝上抹平。一隻橡膠食人魚玩具在油漆地上滑過撞到她的鞋，又鑽到椅子底，空心身體像塑膠響板般顫動。四周緩慢的進度讓她想起童年的寓言：堅持向前，急躁反而停步。喇叭再度叫號，她走向窗口，玻璃後的筆尖連連敲擊。服務員指向空白的日期欄，紅燈閃兩下，表格滑回櫃面。舊號碼掉進回收槽，新紙條彈出，顯示 72。她判斷等待將拖過午餐，於是劃掉防曬乳，只保留維他命。

號碼慢條斯理向上爬：68、69，再到 70。走廊鉸鏈發出長嘯，螢光板嗡嗡不停。終於，72 亮起，琼邁步向前，袋子在腿邊沙沙作響。修正後的表格不再被質疑，技術員把一包密封小袋放上檯面。膠塑相擦的細聲響伴著她把維他命收進提袋。她把沒用上的防曬券丟進藍色回收桶，紙片輕拍桶壁。自動門打開，一陣冷風吹向車棚，而天花板喇叭在身後報出 73。