Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 1 ~ The Dream (JL)

HT2 - TASK ONE

The child was a sickly one, sweat layered up on the brow and dripping down the underdeveloped nose. He sniffled on constant, slurping the mucus back down his throat despite the unlicensed medic's prods for him to simply not. When he coughed, it came out crunchy, and when he breathed it was more of an involuntary wheeze. His mere presence, caught under moth-eaten sheets, made the room seem more cramped, more stuffy, more hot. Mosquitoes flitted in and out of the open window, from one decrepit house to one decrepit swamp, back and forth, back and forth.

Joelle merely expressed his distaste by pressing the cold rag tighter against the boy's forehead. Beside him, something boiled, which he leaned over to check now and then. For the most part, though, nothing changed.

It was awful, and, frankly, he'd prefer to be home, scrubbing linens on the washboard as he waited for Mother to come home. Not in this ratty old place. Every shift made the floor creak beneath him, and his stomach would drop every time, fearful the boards'd collapse and drop him into dens of malaria. A duty was a duty, though, however obligatory it was.

They would treat his family to dinner for this, at the very least.

He sighed, breath heating the surrounding air. Not realizing it was just a flush of irritation, the mother of the sick boy stepped forward - poor anxious woman that she was - biting at the skin of her thumb. "Is he getting worse? How's he doing?"

She already knew, of course, which made Joelle sigh again, but nonetheless he scooted the stool a few inches away from the bedside and began to shove the gloves off his hands. He turned to look at her, then, she and her nubby nails and frazzled hair. Her dark skin was greasy - gone unwashed from fear of leaving her son alone too long. Piteous.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know how to respond, and instead took the second best course of action: lie, naturally. "Well, his temperature's gone down a couple pegs, so that's good."

The woman was hardly fazed; she continued to nibble and let a silence pass between them.

She wants more.

Joelle shifted uncomfortably upon his stool so that he faced her better, swallowed a couple times, flitted his eyes to her chin. "With the progress he's making, I do believe he'll recover from this. No higher being could benefit from taking your son, not so young."

At this, her shoulders relaxed, and she let her finger drift away from her lips ever so slightly. "Really?" It came out breathy. "You really think so?"

The rest came defensively, upholding his previous statements. He knitted his brows, nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah, yeah, 'course I do. Would you really put such little faith in Him? You know what they say: He doesn't give us more than we can handle, and it seems that your son is handling this well, all things considered. Look at him-" He paused to fling an arm out, gesturing to the boy. "Sleeping peacefully. Look it! Doesn't it seem like he's dreaming?"

The mother took a few wary steps forward, raising a messy brow just the slightest bit at her son. Then, the corners of her lips began to turn up. "It sorta does, doesn't it?"

"Yes! He's been blessed with sweet dreams! A good sign, is it not?" Now he was grinning, teeth flashing white and only a bit crooked at the front. A foamy feeling had replaced the distaste in his chest; he was now light, and when a gnat flew too close, he simply swatted it away without grunting as he usually would. The lightness drifted into every inch of him, lifting him up, up, up! He stood so quickly, in fact, that his stool toppled over, and the mother flinched at this but nonetheless listened as intently as she could.