One (Sarah Crossan)

Influenza

Two days after our visit to

Dr Derrick

it knocks us down

flat on to our backs

without any warning.

I shiver and shake

and cling to the duvet

popping two white tabs of paracetamol

into my mouth every four hours,

hoping

to keep the chills away.

Tippi is lying next to me

shuddering,

sneezing, coughing,

and making her way through

a second box of Kleenex.

Our sheets are wet with sweat.

Mom delivers boiling

drinks

and tries to make us

eat a little toast.

But we are too sick

to move.