Sickness

Gene sat up and sneezed.

He lay back in his bed, reached beside him, and tried to find a clean tissue. None were to be had. He pushed the bunch off the bedside table and unearthed the box. He pulled the last tissue from it, and blew his nose. He folded it, and blew again.

Gene coughed, then groaned.

“You okay in here?” Antony asked from the door way.

“Uuuugggggh,” Gene said.

“I’ll get you some more soup then.”

“K,” Gene said, his stuffed nose altering his voice.

“In a mug?”

“Yes please,” Gene said. “Any more tissue boxes? Used the last one.”

“I’ll bring you more. You rest.”

“Ugggggh,” Gene said, closing his eyes.

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