𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[50]: this is my design

My eyes burned under the dusky sunlight coming from the windows.

My arm hurt, my hand, my knees, my chest, my head - everything felt heavier like the gravity had been dialed upwards. Like I would have to crawl painfully from A to B, my head feeling compressed and about to explode.

That's how I felt.

I licked my dry lips, opening my eyes and moving my head slowly of the pillow placed under it. I moaned softly as my muscles felt like rusty parts of a car, pins and needles rising up my legs and arms. I stretched out my hands only to find something there.

My knuckles had been bandaged tightly, blood seeping through the fabric. I inspected them closer and saw bruises peeking out from them extending up my fingers.

I went to move off the bed, in hopes to see if anyone was outside the door of the room. I was in the bedroom they used to perform surgery on Carl when he had been shot. I remembered it was on the first floor of the Greene's house.

But my right arm was being restrained by a small needle sticking into it, connecting to an I.V.

I groaned deeply, using my shaky arms to sit up. My weakness was sickening and made me incredibly frustrated.

I breathed heavily through parted lips, my hands grazing the walls as I walked along them.Something inside me said that this was heaven and this was the "light" people always talked about.

But I wasn't going to heaven.

There was a thin layer of sweat on my skin, a feverish coldness painting my body even as I felt inside like I was on fire.

I blinked hard, hoping my vision would become less blurry and more focused.

My throat and stomach convulsed, warm liquid erupted from my mouth and I brought my still bandaged hands to my chin. The bile spilled down my past my lips and neck, falling to the floor. I coughed violently, spitting the aftertaste to the space around me.

My stomach contracted multiple times, sucking in and out rapidly.

My stomach upturned itself again, burning my throat and the substance falling onto the floor again.

It was like a clock that just didn't tick, it was doing all the inside work too fast and my body wasn't even doing its job. My body hurt - it hurt and it was coming from the inside, something I couldn't fight or try to prevent; it was like a curse... well, it must have been a disease of some sort and I had no idea.

I crawled the best I could to the edge of the bed, gripping the fabrics and leaning over so I could throw up more. All until there was nothing left. But my throat still tried to rid itself of every single, little bit of burning vomit and tainted saliva.

Hands came to my shoulders, rubbing my back softly in caring circles.

I looked around quickly, lashing out automatically to see Maggie with a concerned expression that made me feel even sicker.

"You're not doing too good," she stated, a small wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. She kept rubbing my back and looked into my eyes. "My dad says you need bed rest. You were dehydrated and malnourished."

I must have looked like one of the walkers exploring the highway and fields that forest that surrounded the farm.

She brought the back of her hand to my forehead, my initial response was the flinch away but her fingers were a releasing cold temperature on my slick skin.

"Your fever's not as worse as yesterday," she leaned back, adjusting her legs on the bed.

The room was a dark, dusty, and glowing atmosphere.