Sick - story by @papi.mati

You lie in bed with cruel bronchitis. You go through a fever now and then but sometimes it passes. This cannot, unfortunately, be said about coughing attacks and annoying rhinitis. You look badly; in sweaty pajamas, with a swollen nose, with clumped hair.

You asked your boyfriend not to come over with chicken soup this time. He seemed to be relieved, and now instead of sending you uplifting texts on Whatsapp, he's probably partying out there somewhere.

In the morning you found out that your story about a child without the hand you sent to the contest organized by Society Without Hands did not even receive a distinction. You were counting on a reward very much. In March again you will be living on Tesco cereals only and making long walks along tram lines to kill your time. You feel on the sidelines of life - in that very moment when you rub your back with a warming ointment, people create great pictures, invent medicines that heal cancer. They expose political crimes by smuggling risky documents. AND maybe they are doing a shadow theater for children in some Refugee Center?

Some time ago you had a bit of entertainment sipping of the antitussive syrup. Slightly more than recommended by the doctor, just enough to get disturbing visions. But the syrup finished and the bottle went to the trash. At this point, you only have the strength to lie down and hate. You hate your boyfriend for the fact that he is so insensitive. And the previous guys for a variety of equally important reasons. As you grind your teeth, you remember a friend from high school, a terrible asshole, although handsome, who, unfortunately, succeeded in life. You remember all his stupid school taunts, all his bullying of that ridiculous junior-class eyeglass, the moment when he used to clap at a waiter to humiliate him when you went together to a restaurant… fists clench at such injustice! But the most annoying thing, most pissing off are the dumb texts of the Virgin Mobile company. Each time you wake up to the sound of your phone. It should be your sweetheart, he should write (yes, you thought it so well): "How are you, my love? I miss you. Get well, I kiss you. " Or it should be friends who want to check on you, instead of that dumb offer of the discount for phone calls ...

This anger makes you swell and turn black. Finally, you turn into a black ball the size of, let's say, a coconut.
-Come on Kamil- says your mother to your brother - we won't be keeping the trash in the house- and they roll you far away to the field, far beyond the lake. There you will wait until summer sun will melt you

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Thank you for reading this short story,
@papi.mati