As I sit in bed, wide awake at 2am after sleeping off some nightquil and a high fever whilst praying silently that I don't wake my poor husband up with the cellphone's glow, my mind wanders around thinking of random questions like: how would my characters handle an illness?
I think getting sick would really try Andy the most...
Andralyn grumbles quietly as she's pushed back into bed for the third time that day.
"Sleep."
She moans, pulling up the covers to her red, raw nose and whines, Â "M'fine..."Â
John shakes his head, grumbling as he leaves the he room again.
Moments pass.
"John? "
...
"Jooohn? "
...
"Joooo-"
John moves into the doorway, his brows lifted so high it was almost as if they needed to be so his smile would remain, "Yes, love?"
"M'bored..."
"I'm sorry, Â Andy... what can I do?"
"Lay with me."
"You're sick."
"I'm fine!"
"I'll get the newspaper. "
She whines, her head tilted back to release a groan that would send her into a fit of coughs.
John shakes his head and leaves again, patting the doorframe as he goes, "Soup is about done."
She lays, staring at the ceiling fan for a long time, fighting the urge to slip into a pleasant slumber.Â
"John..."
"Yes, love? "
"Our ceiling fan is filthy."
"..."
"Bring me the broom."
And so on and so on forever until he threatens to rip every piece of clothing in her closet to keep her in bed and drugs her soup to get her to sleep. THE end.
I think getting sick would really try Andy the most...
Andralyn grumbles quietly as she's pushed back into bed for the third time that day.
"Sleep."
She moans, pulling up the covers to her red, raw nose and whines, Â "M'fine..."Â
John shakes his head, grumbling as he leaves the he room again.
Moments pass.
"John? "
...
"Jooohn? "
...
"Joooo-"
John moves into the doorway, his brows lifted so high it was almost as if they needed to be so his smile would remain, "Yes, love?"
"M'bored..."
"I'm sorry, Â Andy... what can I do?"
"Lay with me."
"You're sick."
"I'm fine!"
"I'll get the newspaper. "
She whines, her head tilted back to release a groan that would send her into a fit of coughs.
John shakes his head and leaves again, patting the doorframe as he goes, "Soup is about done."
She lays, staring at the ceiling fan for a long time, fighting the urge to slip into a pleasant slumber.Â
"John..."
"Yes, love? "
"Our ceiling fan is filthy."
"..."
"Bring me the broom."
And so on and so on forever until he threatens to rip every piece of clothing in her closet to keep her in bed and drugs her soup to get her to sleep. THE end.
