Saturday night, Sunday night
L has been asleep through most of the day, but now that he's awake, he finds that he wants a cup of hot tea. He doesn't want to wake Misa, so he leaves a note, and decides to take a walk to the kitchen. Someone or other there will probably help him, and the change of scene might improve his mood.
He could walk to this particular kitchen with his eyes closed, yet as he takes one slow step after another through the corridors, he begins to feel disoriented. The pain in his chest and abdomen never fades, and his hands are shaking... is the fever coming back yet again?
He turns the corner that he's absolutely certain should take him to the kitchen in a few dozen feet, but instead, the hallway dead-ends about three yards ahead of him. Only one flickering bulb illuminates it.
Just at the end of the hall is a hospital gurney; it looks as if it has been abandoned. There's a body on it, covered with a white sheet.
Frowning, he approaches the gurney, then grasps the corner of the sheet to lift it. Just as he does so, there's a squelching noise, and viscous green slime begins to drip off the bed's surface, sliding down the legs of its frame, plopping onto the floor.
The body -- or whatever was giving the sheet the shape of covering a body -- has vanished: there's nothing but a pool of slime.
He takes a few involuntary steps back, hits the wall, slides down until he's sitting on the floor. The impact makes him cough, there's a pressure at the bridge of his nose, and his upper lip is suddenly wet.
He raises the back of his hand to his nose, wiping with it.
It comes away green.
When he looks back at the gurney, he sees that both it and the dead end are gone: he sits about twenty feet from the door to the kitchen.
[[Not private as of yet. Tag away. This post also covers a kitchen visit Sunday night, sans hallucinations.]]
He could walk to this particular kitchen with his eyes closed, yet as he takes one slow step after another through the corridors, he begins to feel disoriented. The pain in his chest and abdomen never fades, and his hands are shaking... is the fever coming back yet again?
He turns the corner that he's absolutely certain should take him to the kitchen in a few dozen feet, but instead, the hallway dead-ends about three yards ahead of him. Only one flickering bulb illuminates it.
Just at the end of the hall is a hospital gurney; it looks as if it has been abandoned. There's a body on it, covered with a white sheet.
Frowning, he approaches the gurney, then grasps the corner of the sheet to lift it. Just as he does so, there's a squelching noise, and viscous green slime begins to drip off the bed's surface, sliding down the legs of its frame, plopping onto the floor.
The body -- or whatever was giving the sheet the shape of covering a body -- has vanished: there's nothing but a pool of slime.
He takes a few involuntary steps back, hits the wall, slides down until he's sitting on the floor. The impact makes him cough, there's a pressure at the bridge of his nose, and his upper lip is suddenly wet.
He raises the back of his hand to his nose, wiping with it.
It comes away green.
When he looks back at the gurney, he sees that both it and the dead end are gone: he sits about twenty feet from the door to the kitchen.
[[Not private as of yet. Tag away. This post also covers a kitchen visit Sunday night, sans hallucinations.]]