Plague, Day Three
Death has not crossed the threshold here yet. Supplies are dwindling. We are out of frozen pizza and down to the last clementine. The promise of supply run is dim. The sounds of Sunday morning political talk shows and the raspy death-rattle coughing echo in the sick room. Blankets are either heavy torture devices driving one to sweat incessantly or are too thin to keep the sick warm.
Tissues are also in short supply. Papertowels have replaced their gentle touch on a red raw nose. The sun shines outside, mocking the pain behind the glass of the cell in which I writhe and spew chucks of what can only be described as lung tissue.
This plague ’tis the devil’s work. I told the universe that I was done working for “the man” and asked for independent wealth, and then this curse was put upon me. I only hope that in these last moments that my suffering saves another from making the same mistake. For now, I am only grateful that this cursed sickness has spared me pox and boils.
Not even chocovodkacocoa and percocet can touch this. But I cling to hope, return to the comforts of the sick bed, before I find myself tumbling over the banister and landing in a crumpled heat at the foot of the stairs.
This entry was posted on 26 January 14 by dpecky. It was filed under Picture Perfect, Profound Insights, Random Rambling and was tagged with clementines, cough, death, flying monkeys, illness, plague, sleep, tea, tissues, zero to hero, zerotohero.