“Listen,” I said,
“I can’t talk long.
These coughing fits
are wrecking me.
My nose is running
like a hyper fugitive.
I might go on
sick leave.”
I leaned back
against my bed pillow
and closed my eyes.
That relentless migraine
crashed into my skull
like a rolling boulder.
“I dunno what
it is, Katie,” I croaked
into my cellphone.
“No, I don’t need
to go to a
hospital... for now.”
I closed my eyes
and I lowered
my sleep mask
to block out
my bedroom window’s
intrusive light.
“Something’s
been going around.
People have been
trying to shake
this flu Thing,”
I explained.
“Freda’s doctor
ordered her to
not leave her home
for a week!”
That radiant
February sunlight
should have been
crisp and comforting.
My sickened perception
told me instead that the
bitter white light
was going to
singe my brain
into an ash pile.
I hung up
and rolled onto
my left side,
my joints screaming
at me with freshened rage.
This flu Thing
had hung on
to me for
over two weeks.
I was halfway done
with my second antibiotic,
yet the Thing would not
DIE!
Was it the weather
that made the Thing
so strong?
Why was everything
so loud?
The stream from
my shower head
had assaulted my body
with dissolving bullets.
The shower’s stream
had sounded like
screaming demons
fighting for my
sickened soul.
I pulled my quilt
up over my head
to silence the
simplest sounds.
My suffering mind
finally let me
black out into
a healing sleep.