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anada359
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.* O . . .. ..O .. 359 20 May 2001 ) ( ')
.* O O* o o o o o o o ( / )
* ***O O O O O O O O O \( _)|
* O o o.*..o.*..o.*..o. .net "Cough" *
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* /,`.-'`' -. ;-;;,_ *
* |,4- ) )-,_..;\ ( `'-' by Infernal *
* '---''(_/--' `-'\_) *mE0w* o
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'Anada is cat-friendly..o*`
Cough.
Marvel at the phlegmy wheeze, the strain of the neck muscles, the
temporary headache from just that one cough. Wince at the raw
protesting throat scraped to the blood-soaked meat from a day, a week of
this.
Cough.
Every year it's worse. Something going around. It's 'cause it got
warm and then cold again. You'll catch your death of it. What are you
doing going out there without your stocking cap? So-and-so got it from
so-and-so and gave it to so-and-so gave it to the whole office. Everyone's
getting it. Everyone's got it.
Cough. Cough.
Hunched over, smelling like b.o. and VapoRub, like a sickroom. No
sleep since how long? Who knows. Not sure if there was ever health, or
sun, or fresh air to replace the rotten. Clammy fingers shake, unscrew
Nyquil cap. Chilled, then sweating. Breath: abominable.
Another cough, and a sudden mental picture, a portrait of the artist
as an old man, used up and dried out like quivering jerky, stubbled cheeks
lined with jowly wrinkles, eyes sunken and dim, sun-faded marbles that
don't flicker any more. Claws scrabble at blanket on lap, stooped back
tries to bend upright, take the entitled gulp of the air of the world,
but just can't make it. Wheeze and hitch in mean thimblefuls of life,
not enough to keep the brain primed, and stuff starts to grey out around
the edges, so gradually that it's months before it sinks in that this is
dead, this is death, this whole thing has been the process of not living
any more, before there was even any living to do. Curse and cry, shameful
tears and blubbering helplessness.
Cough again, and the picture fades. Just a temporary illness. Just
a minor setback. Something else to wait through before life starts up. A
glitch. It's going around. Rest. Plenty of fluids. Sleep. More sleep.
It'll be over soon. Then the fun starts!
Cough, and this time one follows another, squeezing like angry hands
on the sacs of the lungs. Keep coughing, open mouth, grotesque pantomime -
need air! Can't get it. Whoop in a lungful, finally, and that sets off
more coughing. Everything's going flame-red and a waterfall of static
roars in the ears.
The nurse runs in and wonders what the hell the problem is this time,
wonders why these pesky old bastards don't just die and get out of the way.
And coughs.
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( o.o ) (c) Anada e'zine anada359 by Infernal o
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