I felt like I was coming down with something. Like a cold I couldn’t shake off; like a never ending allergic reaction. I looked out the window hoping something could give me relief. I sniffled, breathing out of my mouth along with a moan of frustration. It had been six weeks and I felt like I was getting worse. Crumbled up tissues surrounded me like a barricade. The waste basket was already filled to the rim and I refused to throw my snot on the floor. I grabbed the tissue box and rocked it in my arms like a child. I took one out as the sandpaper tissue hugged my already pink tinted, scaly nose. I blew.
Looking out the window I stared at the many people scurrying down below. They looked like small ants in stiletto heels and glittery shirts. Their hair bounced as the light wind from the late autumn night caught it. They linked arms with tall men with broad shoulders and shiny shoes. The radiant glow of the moon made shadows behind them as they walked past the tall cement buildings. I sniffled again, grabbing another tissue out of the box. I leaned my clammy face against the moist, cool window and sighed with relief. The city lights were so far from reach. I closed my eyes as I breathed slowly out of mouth.
The low melody of my Beethoven cd was on its last track and I wasn’t going to start it again. Standing from the warmth of the sill, I proceeded to my bedroom that reeked of antiseptic and eucalyptus. My tired, swollen eyes scanned the room. It felt so stale, so repeated, so boring. I looked down at my black pumps still sitting in its box not yet worn. I sniffled again. Maybe next weekend I would feel better enough to go dancing, or to at least debut my new shoes. I took off my clothes to change into fresh pajamas, even though I didn’t leave the house all day, and climbed into bed.
I opened my eyes to the blaring of honking horns and screeching breaks outside the open window. Rubbing my crusty burning eyes, I looked out at the sunny day. It was a Sunday and I thought Sunday was a day of rest. I slid out of bed and walked over to the open window and shut it, closing myself from the rest of the world. I slipped on my pink fuzzy slippers that looked like wet dog hair and dragged my stiff tired legs to the bathroom.
Looking at my reflection I noticed that any amount of color that had ever been in my face had been drained out. I spit in the sink as I sniffled. I ran my fingers through my dried out frizzy hair and shook my head with disgust. This sickness was not going to overpower me. I turned on the shower and waited for the steam to fill the small bathroom. The mirror began to fog up, fading my reflection in the mist. I leaned against the sink and put my head in my hands. Frustration filled my brain as the steam began to seep through my congested nose. I sniffled again.
The rest of Sniffle… It’s due tomorrow.