The Flu

March 19, 1998


My throat has grown raspy from constantly inhaling chemicals. The tiny box-shaped room sits calmly in a smoky haze. Next door an uproar of laughter invites ears to listen in and define voices from one another. My nose burns sending a sharp pain all the way up to my forehead. The morning is early and medications have taken over. This is when my best work is done. When nothing else sounds appealing and my body feels weak it becomes a responsibility to keep up with a hobby that is usually denied. The air goes back and forth from hot to cold but neither come at the correct moment, the timing is always off. My hair remains untouched becoming more and more tangled and matted. Vitamin C is beginning to taste like cough syrup. On days when my health is good I spend most of the time in bed or on the couch, but as sickness prevails a sudden urge comes over me to become active and accomplish what needs to be done. My condition becomes worse and any energy that I once possessed vanishes. I think it is time for sleep.


Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist