Blues of The Flu

It’s 3:45 in the morning. I can’t sleep, but not from a lack of trying. I’ve taken the maximum amount of Cold and Flu medication that will leave my liver intact once this snotty storm comes to a halt.  Nevertheless, the Flu is kicking my ass and taking all kinds of names. Sweat is rolling down the wrinkles of my tense forehead faster than the rain falling outside my open window.  I forgot to pick up Nighttime TheraFlu Warming on my way home from work. So I’m flat out of luck until tomorrow morning.  I’m hoping for a speedy recovery.  

Oh what the hell; just for fun . . . ;)

Chapter One

The Snot Storm

There was not enough tissue in the world to adopt the immense amount of yellow drainage that gushed out of her nose. The skin directly under her muzzle was irritated and burned as if she had been bathing for hours under a summer sun.

With the microphone close to her flushed lips, the girl with coffee bean hair shouted. “Calling all Gods and Goddesses,” She swallowed hard with a sigh. “Take away my Flu.”

 Coffee bean girl tore the microphone away from her chapped mouth, and dropped the germ-infested equipment to the wooden floor. The mike rocked side-to-side like an empty, old-fashioned Coca-Cola bottle beside her bare feet.  Her ten toes curled under like merciless bear claws.  Her body shivered as goose bumps made a quilt over her scrawny limbs.

She hoped—No.  She prayed that her request would not go unanswered. 

A bientôt,

J.L