The Land Left Behind

In Sickness (1)

Rose had felt ill for the past few weeks. Now it was getting worse. She couldn't sleep. Insomnia had never been a problem for her before. Now, her nights were less like sleep and more like a long and terrible fog. She couldn't place her surroundings, yet she felt as if she were only a moment from consciousness.

When awake, her limbs itched and trembled. Rose felt like a paper doll lost in the wind. There had been a new development, as well; for the past few days, she had been severely nauseated. She'd sunk to a new low, barely feeling strong enough to pull herself out of bed.

If she hadn't felt so awful, Rose might have been bored. But her head ached, and so did her stomach. She had the odd feeling this was the end of her; maybe she had never been destined to live longer than sixteen years. Perhaps she had the first case of a new, fatal disease. Hopefully, it wasn't contagious. Her friends and teachers did not deserve to feel what she was feeling.

It's amazing, she thought, her brain could escape on such a tangent even when preoccupied with pain and sleep-deprived haze.

There was a knock at her bedroom door. Rose sat up, pushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear, and hoped she looked somewhat okay (however unlikely).

"Are you awake?" asked a familiar voice.

Rose smiled. "Come in!"

Angie pushed open the door. Rose had missed her, as she had missed everyone else at the school. Even Miss Chapman and her infuriating reprimands. Most of all, Rose had missed the other girls; especially Angie.

"Hey," Angie said softly, "How are you feeling?" Her golden-brown hair was woven carefully into a single plait, much like the two in Rose's hair. Angie had taught Rose to braid hair, among other things.

"I'm okay, I guess." The truth was she felt horrible.

Angie sighed. "I hope that's a sincere answer. Everyone misses you, you know. Ms. Robertson thinks you've got VZV-" Angie rolled her eyes "-But you're sixteen, right? You would have got it as a kid."

Rose leaned back onto her pillows. A draft blew through her window, which was slightly ajar. She didn't know if she was immune to Coplexia or not, and she wasn't sure she cared. Rose was sick. Sick and tired of being sick. There was nothing she wanted more than to climb out of the window and onto a nearby tree. All she wanted was to feel the wind in her hair and do stupid stunts with Angie, Leila, and Tanaya or teach the younger girls to dance.

"Sorry-" Angie sat on the end of the small bed. "I didn't mean to ramble. I wanted to check on you."

"You're sweet." Rose laughed, then shivered. "Trust me, I'm more than ready to get out of this stupid bed."

Angie smiled; though her coppery eyes were tinged with an undercurrent of sadness. "If you need anything, I've got it. You've always been my favorite little sister."

Her mouth quirked upwards. That was their favorite inside joke– they weren't technically sisters or even family. But during the three or so years Rose had lived at the school that was exactly what she and Angie had been. Rose had been twelve, lost and alone in the world. Angie had taken her under her wing as any big sister would.

"Don't worry. I won't tell anyone." Rose pushed herself into more of a sitting position.

"That's what you said last time," Angie said, then winked exaggeratedly.

Her head ached. Still, Rose ended the conversation how she always would. "And I'll say it again."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Rose had never wanted anything more than to feel well again, though tied with that was her deep desire for a complete night of sleep. She supposed both would be nice.

"I'll be back tomorrow, okay? Hang in there, Rose." Angie squeezed Rose's hand and swung her legs off the bed.

Rose nodded, too tired and sore to respond; though she managed a smile before her friend left the room.

Seeing Angie reminded her of exactly what she was missing out on. It was infuriating as well as frustrating; she hated being confined to a minuscule room in an even smaller bed. Rose could have endured the incessant pain if she was able to do something, anything, else. Anything other than staring blankly at her wall while feeling sorry for herself.

Rose allowed herself to lay there passively, thinking of nothing but how awful she was doing. She decided to get up and walk. When had she become a girl who felt sorry for herself? If there were any gods at all, they would help her.

She guided herself up out of bed tentatively; doing her best to ignore her shaking limbs. The floor felt strange under her bare feet. It reminded her of the last time she had ridden on a boat. If she closed her eyes, she was there, her body swaying to the sea's primeval rhythm and the wind fanning her hair. The illusion lasted until her footing slipped and the water rushed up to meet her. Rose had fallen overboard.