fever - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Even under a light cotton sheet he was radiating heat like a brick right out of the oven. He ate nothing but the most watery of soups, so diminished was his appetite. We could hear his coughing and wheezing from clear outside the house, it was a barking cough that carried well though walls and the still late winter air. I was bored of him being ill, all I wanted was for him to get up and play, but all he wanted to do was sleep with the curtains drawn all day. The doctor came yesterday and said there was nothing to be done but let him ride it out. Mama keeps running to and from his room with cool cloths, she has a supply of them out on the washing line so they're almost frozen when she brings them in. I sure hope I don't get it. It sounds mighty painful on the throat.
He sat at the very far end of the shed, back up against the damp wood of the wall, body aching, cheeks burning with the flush of fever. He would have cried for help, but there was no strength in his voice, just a whisper. His breath quivered in short, quick gasps every time he inhaled, his lungs having no choice but to painfully and rigidly take in the chilled air around him. He couldn't seem to stop shaking either. Sometimes it was rough, other times he could manage, but every time he'd get close to sleep, a new spell of violent shaking would force him awake. "I'll get better. I'll get better," he repeated to himself, feebly rubbing away at his arms in a sickly attempt to cease the unsettling chill that continued to run down his spine and made his skin crawl.
Sam's face is beet red and his skin glistens in a way that has Alice worried. His lips are puffed out and the skin on them shows the first signs of dehydration. Even stripped down he's burning at all we can do is open the door to let the winter wind to him some good, the rest of us shivering thick coats and mitts.
The fever is burning Gill up, body and spirit. She lies there so still as her skin radiates the heat from her blood. Her usual soft brown skin glows in the worst way and her limbs fall limply when we raise them. Benedict thinks she has maybe an hour left, less perhaps. That's when even the most atheistic of us start praying to any deity that'll listen. Gill isn't simply a girl; she's someone we all love, would all die for, all give up our places in the hereafter if it made her safe. So mostly what we all feel is helpless, as obsolete as parched soil that blows over the fields.
We've pumped Selena with every drug we'e got and still her temperature climbs. The room is so cold with every window open to let in the chill wind of late fall. The world is on pause for her as she takes in her shallow breathes, existing from moment to moment. Already she's lost weight and most of it will be the muscle she needs to carry on toward the north. Perhaps this is where she'll rest, we pray not. Perhaps it is a sign of desperation that we've started to cling to any sign that she'll pull through. Only yesterday Ivan told us of a small bird that alighted outside of her window, singing a song that reminded him of a soothing hymn. He told it as if God himself had asked the bird to be his messenger of hope.
Fires burn, fevers consume. I see Rory being eaten from within by the virus that intends to cook him, scorching his usually pale skin so red. I've never seen him so lacking in life spirit and the fear of loosing him bites down hard. Little Rosie goes to hold his still fingers only to drop them in fright, shocked by his inner furnace.
There is a fire burning in Hayla. She groans just to breathe and she is limp from her hollow stare to her skinny legs. Once we get into the medi-facility the doctor orders one hypodermic of medication after another. Simon turns away, unable to watch, but all I can do is stare - stare as if my love can make the difference between success and failure.
I've never been able to lie to Todd but as his fever burns hot I find that I can. No-one who goes past three days of fever makes it and this is number four. He's lost track of time so I tell him "It's just been two days, Baby. Everything is going to be alright." I look right into his eyes so that he knows I mean it. In truth everything will be broken beyond repair and inside I can feel the shards of my shattered soul cutting and slicing; yet right now easing his pain is the only thing that matters. I stroke his coarse hair, so drenched with sweat and he curls hot fingers into my right hand.