I am confined in sickness; diseased in this bedridden state. An unyielding affliction grasps my throat, suppressing my breath with a serpentine squeeze. This feeling is rooted in me, though its origin is lost in wild thought. Somehow I remain inanimate, and I know today will be no different than any other. Cursed oblivion.
With a reluctant pace, I stumble toward the bathroom. The doorknob is frozen, and it shatters as I cradle it in my hand. In my frigid indifference I continue to make the turning motion and step inside. I stand before the mirror and say, "Aaaaaaaah," examining the area of my gum where my wisdom teeth once laid compacted two years prior. Nothing appears to be out of place, and I wonder what urged me to inspect my mouth to begin with. I am bored in my curiosity, and so I go on with my daily bathroom routine.
There is a lion in the basement.
X amount of hours later...
My gum is swollen behind my lower jaw, pushing its skin past my teeth. Every time my mouth closes I release a silent scream. I am desperate to find a cure. I find my sister upstairs in my younger brother's room and inform her of my current discomfort and my severed solution. She is certain I am exaggerating.
"You think that's bad? Try being on your period. You don't know real pain until you've experienced cramps," she scoffs heedlessly as she rolls her eyes.
I am frantic. Discounting my pain does not make it cease. In fact, my frenzied condition forces me to fixate on my pain, increasing its volume unbearably. I must prove to her that my affliction is no flouting matter, and so I open my mouth wide as possible, and press down. From here, I cannot fully express the amount of blood that flows from me or how lengthy a tissue hangs from the hole in my gum. I am engulfed in my pain as the roseate stream of my sickness carries me to a cure, yet drowns me in disdain.
There is a lion in my bed.