charlie was sick. it was a rare occurrence for him, he never really ‘got sick.’ sure he’d get the common cold every noun again but never like this. never like he had to stay in his dorm with a sick bucket next to his bed as his girlfriend fed him soup. he hated this. he felt weak and tired. he hadn’t even been able to go to the dead poets meeting last friday. so he was really upset.

it was sunday morning. not classes, no homework. you just sat there, feeding charlie soup as he complained and described the birds he’d seen out his window when he was bothered to look. he was in his pyjamas as was burning up. “your overreacting. i’m not that sick.” he’d say ever other hour.