2: Hot (Part 1)

2: Hot (Part 1)

A Chapter by Melissa

 

At the house Liam and I shared, I was laying on the couch recovering from my wound. We managed to salvage a place slightly in the middle of the woods. It was a small, quaint, little cottage; a bit cramped but overall, a lot better than what everyone else lived in, if they even had a place to live that wasn't a designated part of the street.

 

Our house was clean, something that was rarely seen anymore. Usually everything is dirty with ash and soot and various other pollutants. But here it was a little slice of paradise, some place you could just leave the rest of the world behind and relax. I liked it and so did Liam.

 

I remember when the world started to get this way, so dirty, so dark, so, evil. It started with the trucks. The trucks for garbage, the trucks for sewage removal, the "trucks," you know, those big semi trucks that hauled everything everywhere.

 

They would go passed and the thick, black exhaust that came out of the pipes would stay in the air for minutes after it had passed. It would disperse in the wind but you could still see it everywhere. The trucks used to be few, which was true until the industrialization of the world; even the third world countries that were under developed and untouched by modern civilization were industrialized.

 

I partially blame them. It wasn't entirely their fault, only partially. They weren't completely developed to have the technology to have trucks that were more environmentally friendly. They mass-produced the noxious trucks to move out their mass-produced goods.

 

Now because of those trucks and the factories, the sky was almost always dark, even in the daytime. On rare occasions, it was sunny out, but that was an oddity now days. I think the lack of sun is what makes these people so evil.

 

As I was laying there, I was starting to get hot and a small twinge of pain was starting to form in my side. I lifted my shirt slightly and the skin around my wound was a purplish color and slightly swollen. I could tell that it was infected.

 

The problem about the hospitals wasn't the bedding not being clean; it was the surgical instruments not being clean. The hospital could kill you quicker than the wounds themselves.

 
"Liam." I called.
 

He came running into the living room and said, "Yeah, what's the matter?"

 

"We wouldn't happen to have any antibiotics would we?"

 
"I don't think so, why?"
 

"Because," I said lifting the bottom of my shirt, "I think my wound is infected."

 
His eyes went wide when he saw this.
 
"Oh my god! How, how, how-" he said panicking
 
"The medical instruments." I replied.
 

"I-I'll go see if we have any." He said leaving the living room.

 

The pain in my side started to increase and I was starting to sweat I was so hot.

 
"Liam."
 

"Yeah?" he called from the bathroom, still looking for the antibiotics.

 
"Get the thermometer; I think I have a fever."
 
"Okay."
 

He walked in a few minutes later with the thermometer in tow.

 

"It would make sense that you have a fever. After all, it's another bodily defense against disease." He said handing me the thermometer.

 
I used it and I had a fever of 104.5.
 

"104.5, that is really bad, really, really bad. 104, you need ice or something cold. You could die."

 

"I know just get something cold. Quickly" I said a bit panicked.

 

I was starting to feel a bit nauseous and I was starting to tremble for no reason.

 

Liam came back into the room with an ice pack. He placed it gently on my forehead.

 

"Are you okay?" he asked me, kneeling down in front of me.

 

"No, I have an infection, a fever and I'm nauseous. And put the ice pack on my neck, it'll work better."

 

"Well if you're nauseous turn onto your side so if you do vomit and you're asleep, you don't choke." He said picking up the ice pack.

 

I gingerly turned onto my left side so I was facing the edge of the couch. Liam then placed the ice pack onto my neck.

 
"I'm going to change your bandages okay?"
 
"Go ahead." I said, not caring any more.
 

I could feel him take off the bandage but the pain some how seemed disconnected from me. I was getting even hotter and I was starting to get dizzy, even though I wasn't moving. I could feel him getting the pus and other infectious stuff out of my wound so that it wouldn't swell as much and it would heal faster. He put rubbing alcohol on it and put a fresh bandage on. 

 

My nausea was worsening by the second and any moment now I was going to vomit. I moved my head so that it hung off the couch and ended up vomiting into the bucket that was there. He quickly emptied the contents of the bucket and brought it back into living room.

 

He pulled up a chair and sat at the head of the couch. He began to stroke my hair gently, trying to comfort me. Every moment that was passing by, I was becoming more and more delirious and slowly losing consciousness.

 

My eyelids that were sticky with sweat were beginning to feel heavy and I barely had enough strength to keep them open. My throat was dry and sore, making it nearly impossible for me to talk, in addition to the fact that my mouth felt like I had cotton in it. I was beginning to itch from the heat rash that I was getting. My breathing was getting labored and shallow. I knew that within the hour my systems were going to start to shut down one by one.

 

"Abrianna, are you okay?" Liam quietly asked me breaking the silence in the room.

 
I didn't respond at all, I couldn't even if I wanted to.
 
"Abrianna, if you can hear me blink your eyes."
 
I blinked, it was a slow blink, but it was a blink nonetheless.
 

"Okay, Abrianna, listen to me; I'm going to take your temperature again, okay?" Liam asked.

 
I blinked again to show him that I acknowledged.
 
"105." He said in a worried tone.
 

The click of the clock seemed to be getting louder in my ear. I was about to die, again. Was this how I was going to die, from a fever? I would have preferred to die from the knife last night, not like this though, not from a fever. There were a lot better ways to die. I was wondering that if I had managed to survive this day, if there was something else that was going to try to kill me tomorrow, maybe it would be a hit man with a gun. Probably not, nothing exciting ever went on any more.

 

I could feel the ice pack being lifted off my neck and it being replaced by a fresh, cold one. I felt myself relax a little with the new ice pack.

 

"You are not going to die Abrianna, do you hear me? You are not going to die, I won't let you." Liam said with a newfound confidence.

 

I wasn't sure whether it was a real confidence or a just a ruse to make me hold onto life longer. Either way it made me smile in my head, the fact that he cared about me that much. He would be devastated if I ended up dying; he loved me too damn much not to be.



© 2008 Melissa


Advertise Here
Want to advertise here? Get started for as little as $5

My Review

Would you like to review this Chapter?
Login | Register




Reviews

Oh man...girl, you totally have me on the edge of my seat! You have a knack for this, hon. Are you really only 17? You have developed a very good skill then, or perhaps it is a natural talent...but whatever it is, don't lose it and keep on doing it, cause you are good!

Posted 12 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

302 Views
1 Review
Rating
Added on February 5, 2008
Last Updated on March 24, 2008


Author

Melissa
Melissa

NY



About
I've been around for 20 years now and am majoring in Music History and Culture at Syracuse University. Sometimes I write, sometimes I don't, and whether or not it's any good, I can never tell. And my .. more..

Writing
1: Cold 1: Cold

A Chapter by Melissa


2: Hot (Part 2) 2: Hot (Part 2)

A Chapter by Melissa