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The Cold: Day Two

It was once again after 7:00 am when the man opened his eyes. It had been a fretful sleep; tossing and turning. He rolled from the right to the left then back to the right again trying in vain to clear his sinuses to that he could breathe. His dreams had been filled with visions of Sam and Dean chased by predators and aliens that were manipulated by their puppet masters — talking heads on television.

It was a holiday this Monday and while he would miss out on celebrating the forty-five leaders of his country’s history, at least he did not have to attempt to concentrate on work.

He rose and shuffled out of his bedroom. His partner who was off to the gym had kindly left the coffee maker on and the man prepared a cup of manna for himself. His head was still in a fog.

After his cup of coffee, he sat on the sofa under a blanket and watched the television - mindless, meaningless fiction was the only thing on which he could concentrate.

He must have dozed off. The next thing he recalled was being awakened by Jaimie Lee Curtis’s seduction dance to the True Lies behind her husband’s eyes.

It was time for another pill. His head pounded as he rose and downed the little blue pill (no - not that one) attempting to free his nose from the vice in which it was caged. His throat remained dry and raspy. Another glass of orange liquid followed him to his nest and down he went again.

When he woke, he was annoyed by the colors that were yelling at home (why must blue be so angry?) and he decided to go surfing on the front lawn.

“Wait a minute,” he thought then considered that perhaps he had taken just a little too much of that nightly elixir.

He crawled back into bed.

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