Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
He hadn't had anything eat for two days now, and he was beginning to lose count of that too. I'll get over it. I'll get over it, I'll get over it, he reminded himself, as his lips trembled his hands shook. He could barely standup his head felt like it had been dunked in a bucket of ice water. His voice came out as a raspy whisper.
He picked up a shaking, trembling glass of water and gulped it down. His head cleared. He could see things more clearly, the jitters stabilized. The deep pain in his heart disappeared. He took a long breath, walked slowly to the kitchen and drank a glass of premade lemonade. The pain went away.
He sniffed. Something was off. It was as if someone hadn't flushed the toilet for several weeks and dumped a bucket of ammonia to it to make sure someone noticed. It wasn't the toilet, no, it wasn't coming from the outside. He sniffed again. He moved his head around, sniffing, stretched away and sniffed, his sniffed himself. It was him. He was stinking like a blob of ammonia. They had told him to expect this, he'd forgotten in his attempt to survive. He would take a nice warm shower, and then contact a doctor. They said you could go for weeks without food. With proper medical guidance, he could definitely lose a hundred pounds.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Tell me what you think. I'll read, promise.