My mouth was dry like the Cork Gin, and my head hurt like I’d been drinking the stuff since going to bed the previous night.
My brain felt like a bruise that was being leaned on.
If my nose was the Port Tunnel, one of the bores was closed. As a result of that, coupled with decreased capacity lungs that cut short each inhalation, breathing was a test I was getting just a passing grade in.
Conversely, my muscles seemed to be breathing in pain all by themselves.
The crackling in my ears suggested a loose wire in my body’s speakers, or perhaps that I’d spent the night on a long haul flight.
I swallowed. The cold air was sharp, ripping the walls of my throat as it went down and reminding me of a mouthful of ice-cream swallowed too soon.
An involuntary cough woke the dragon that had until now been contained in my chest cavity, and its burning, fiery bark brought with it a different, but similarly arduous, pain on the way back up.
This ‘flu was on top of its game.
No comments:
Post a Comment