* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Next Day
I've been staring at the ceiling for about a minutes now, waiting for the results.
Realizing that my feet are poking out from the blanket, I subtly pull them back in under the covers for warmth.
My throat is dry and my nose feels stuffy. If there was a word to describe how I'm feeling right now: I'd say try imagining swallowing a cup of flour and then inhaling it from your nose.
I feel awful. Like hell.
After a few minutes of spending time in a room drowned with nothing but silence, mother ta
