Une Fleure Fanée

Week 3 Part 1 (Sunday)

     I am supposed to go to a workshop at JUMP with the team in Pittsburgh. And normally, when you're sick, you still go. You don't normally get a day off. But when you have a 103.4-degree fever, borderline hospital-admitting, you have to stay home.

     Everything hurts. I am cold and hot at the same time, with dark circles on my eyes. I am sluggish. Mom wants me to go to the hospital. But I hate hospitals. Ever since I went to inpatient, I've been terrified of them. Thank God she doesn't make me go.

     I practice my splits. I practice everything that doesn't make me go upside down or anything that makes me jump, afraid that I will throw up if I go upside down or go in the air. I can still do my leg extensions and ballet and stuff like that.

     Mom tells me Ms. Abby was understanding on the phone, but I know she is at least a little annoyed at me. I had an anxiety attack yesterday, a panic attack the day before that caused me to dissociate, and now a fever probably from the stress. Mom is convinced that I need to go to the hospital. But I don't want to go.

      At least I'll have an excuse if I throw up. I'm insanely queasy. Mom says if my fever doesn't break in two hours, she'll have to force me to go to the hospital. I take all the medicine I can. I am not going to the hospital.

      I must have had too much Motrin and Tylenol. I am very disoriented and I lose my already low appetite. This combined with nausea and body aches makes me feel like I'm dying. The computer and phone's brightness make me have a headache.

     The urges aren't coursing through me at least. But they are very present in my brain. Praising me for having not eaten today. Good job. You didn't eat, Lilliana. You're sick. You'll always be sick. I don't want to be sick forever. I just need to sleep. I just need to sleep.

~~~~~

      I'm on a hill. It's grassy. Why do I recognize this location? The sun is shining, a few clouds in the sky, making a fine aesthetic. I want to take a photo, but I don't have my phone. Oh well. It is hot, like summertime hot. I am not queasy or feel like I am dying. I'm feeling really good, in fact.

     My hair is down in ringlet curls. I have this cream-colored jumpsuit with these black pinstripes. I touch my lips. There is a dark red wine color that appears on my fingers. I don't have this shade. Strange.

     I notice a single apple tree on the hill. I'm like a little giddy child. I run over to it. There are red plump apples. I carefully pluck one off of the trees. It's unusually glossy like it's coated in something, but I quickly ignore the glossiness. I put it up to my mouth and sink my teeth into it.

     I barely get to taste the sweet and crisp taste when I notice the grass is starting to brown. So is the tree. Something isn't right, I just know it. I need to get out of here.

     I drop the apple on the ground and make a break for it down a steep hill. I'm almost down the hill when I feel my skin start to tingle like something is on it. I look at my legs. Crawling up them are spiders. I try to shake them off, screaming bloody murder. But they won't leave.

     They crawl into my mouth. I start choking up dead spiders and blood, falling onto my knees. Get me out! Let me out! This isn't real! I try to get up and keep running but I hit some invisible barrier.

     I fall to the ground and my whole world goes dark. Black. No spiders or blood. I look around. There is water on the ground. I touch my lips. My lipstick is gone, and I'm not wearing a jumpsuit. But I don't know what else I'm wearing. I can't see anything. I back up until I hit a wall.

     Suddenly a white screen fills up the wall across from me. I put my knees up to my chest, eyes straining to look at the screen. I brace myself, expecting to hear a Siri-like voice come out. But nothing can prepare me for the satanic garbled voice that I hear.