Sick - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Sickness so often comes in waves rather than simply one thing at a time, yet in those long stretches of health I never think how healthy things happen in bunches too, building me higher and stronger. I guess it's all about making the most of the good stuff and letting the bad stuff pass by as if it were elevator music. So, this crick in my neck, this cold, these muscle aches and head pain that comes as a slowly building bruise... it's all part of living, of reminding me to value health and care for those who ail.
She stumbled to the corner of the room, and with each step her stomach tightened and ached all the more. She kept swallowing, and her throat kept clenching, but no matter what she could not stop the warm feeling rising through her chest. Then she could taste it at the back of her mouth. Constance buckled over. A warm, clouded, cream coloured liquid spilled from her mouth, and sizzled as it splashed over the cold stone floors.
She shivered violently in the humid room. Now that her stomach had stopped lurching she merely felt bruised inside. Curling up on the couch she channel hopped looking for anything but the food channel.
Ashen faced, he clung to the orange plastic bucket as if it were a life raft. His stomach felt like the bag in a set of bag-pipes being vigorously squeezed. With a heaving lurch of his stomach another small mouthful of bile dribbled from his quivering lips into the waiting pool of rancid vomit.
Waves of heat coursed through his blood, a cold sweat glistened in his gaunt features. His eyes sunken and his skin sallow, everything ached, everything sagged. The glass of water stared at him from the bedside table, he took a sip and plopped back onto his pillow.
I sat crossed-legged in the cool grass. All I wanted was for Shawn to be well again. I was tired of his illness. I could hear his coughs from far beyond the walls of his house. I just wanted him to come out and play with me. The doctor had came yesterday, and said nothing could be done. He asked how it started, so I told him. It started a few days ago when Shawn and I were playing tag in the park. After another round, Shawn stopped, and rested a hand on a tree trunk for balance. His face was as pale as a cloud, and there he rested. "Are you okay?" I asked as Shawn's back bent, and his hand gripped his stomach. His eyes went wide and wild as creamy bile poured from his mouth. He retched until all was left was clear stomach acid that burned his throat. He slumped down the tree trunk as he whispered, "Get mama." His eyes went blank and his head tilted back. He was passed out by the time I was back, vomit stained his shirt. It was fresh. He'd thrown up again.