VOLATILE (I) : peter pan ouat

When a Punch Happened

5

It had seemed to escape me while I slept exactly how busy the camp is. Watching people move around you, carrying supplies and weapons in their hands, while you sit along a bench and do nothing is a very awful feeling.

I pride myself on having impact, on having purpose. Another clog in the machine, doing its part to make everything function smoothly. Now, I'm not saying I enjoy blending in, and having a position that is replaceable, but sitting here doing nothing feels much worse than I thought it would.

Especially when there isn't room anywhere in the machine to squeeze you in.

Which is why I'm so very happy when Pan comes up and sits across from me on the bench.

"What do you need me for?" I ask.

He grins. "Is that anyway to start a conversation?"

"You don't talk to me unless you are bored out of your mind or you want something from me," I say. "Correct me if I'm wrong."

"Aren't you supposed to be in the med tent?" He questions.

That's what he wants from me. To get back to the med tent.

"I'll be contributing as much out here as I am in there." I tell him.

He cocks an eyebrow. I roll my eyes, getting up and turning to walk to the tent.

"You know, if you're so keen on bossing me around-" I begin, turning back to face him.

He's gone.

I get up from the table, stretching my back before heading into the med tent. Opening the flaps, I enter inside, peering around.

"Any seizures yet?" I ask James.

"Good morning to you too." James chuckles. "And no, we got lucky. I don't think the symptoms are ordered."

"I thought it was following a pattern." I begin. "First the vomiting, then the sleeping, then the breathlessness-"

Robert sits up, holding his head in his hands. "Not really. It's based on how our bodies fight off diseases, and the shots we've had. We are from different decades, right?"

"You've been here what, ten years?" I ask.

"Something like that." He explains. "Max probably has some sort of predisposing to seizures. James and I didn't sleep for a whole day as our bodies tried to fight it off. I've mainly been getting headaches and heat flashes. Thomas has been sweating and sleeping it off. Max's body is doing God knows everything to keep it out-"

"And my body has been just trying to empty itself." James says. He still has the bucket in his lap, and inside is a sickly green liquid.

"So, what exactly does the illness do, if all its symptoms are ridiculously different?" I ask. "Are we sure it's one sickness?"

James vomits at this.

"Absolutely sure." Harry says. "That doesn't mean it has to make sense scientifically. It could simply be magic."

I guess that's a fair enough answer.

Funny, a month ago I never would've take magic as a logical explanation.

I look over, past James. Thomas is still sleeping, sweat essentially dripping off his body. Max sounds as if he's breathing for through a straw.

"No more seizures?" I ask.

James vomits again.

"No," Robert says. "I'm basically holding the fort down. No use in you being here."