Fiction Piece based on Poem "Disabled" by Wilfred Owen My Lonley Soilder

I wanted to retch. The sharp stench of disinfectant combined with the sheer terror at the thought of what the next few minutes had in-store for me. Thoughts of abandonment, turning around and going home, filled my mind. I could have just walked straight past, continued on home, pretended to just be another person passing the cold, grey building. I still do not know what made me stop, turn towards the building and walk straight into the reception with what seemed expectant confidence. I remember thinking that if I just acted like that was where I was supposed to be going, like I worked ther…