Nekana treaded upon a path of glass. The sides of the said path complemented with pieces of glass shards made from its beautiful and transparent substance. Uneven prisms scattered the side area only, and the smooth path remained magically untouched. All shining in a variety array of colours that were distinct yet blended beautifully with each other. Path otherwise was nothing. A deep abyss if described. This meant the path taken was a compulsory one, unavoidable; else she fall. The girl could feel a sense of chill through the soles of her feet but a sharp pain followed. The beautiful scene of light reflected glass shattered. The breath-taking colours that danced on the prisms were nowhere to be found and all that lay were…

She wore simple clothing: A t-shirt and a pair of pants. A very homely attire. Her fingers were as cold as ice, feet that accompanied the temperature of the dead. Her heart shivered and what came along was the feeling of chill and heat.

Cold beads of sweat dampened the shirt the brunette was wearing and it had also covered almost the entirety of the girl’s body as well as face. She was in clashes of hot and cold and it ironically reminded her of the said feeling song by Katy Perry.

The brunette would not take notice of the early morning view unless she awoke during that time span or was just unentertained during that moment. This however, was different. She was rudely interrupted whereas still in a now-forgotten dream. What she first felt, discomfort.

It was like thousands of dust particles invading her throat. Like aggressive animals, aiming to end all breaths. A bottle of water stood at her bedside desk (Nekana always had one, she never did understand people who didn’t). After a few big gulps of cool, silky liquid, the feeling still hadn’t stopped.

A sore throat, she suspected. It was gone by common sense and instincts: probably. The clock faced 3:12 in the freaking hamster-forsaken morning and she had school that day. ‘Humour me…’ she mumbled inwardly. From then on, sleep was literally impossible. Her throat was being unfathomably impossible (to her). A damp feeling felt her skin and the girl guessed the cause (partly) of her shivers; cold sweat soaked into the fabrics of what Nekana worn.

It was furthermore supported with a sore throat (or as the doctor called it, a classical infection). This, and all that had happened so far (which was only for a brief 10 minutes upon the brunette’s awakening) was… very annoying. Nonetheless, after various so called ‘difficulties’, (yes, it included arguing with the non-existent visible body of the source of infection.) Nekana drifted peacefully back to sleep. Horrified of the hours to come facing the leech that was living of her throat. A small mental note (well, not really but it counts either way) was pasted at the corners of her mind and it read: Damn it. A marvellous summary of the 20 minute event of realisation when one is unwell.

3 miraculously short hours passed, Nekana found yet another fact to be annoyed at. Sleeping hours went by too fast and she could not so anything about it. Her neighbour (Mr. Infection) greeted the girl a pleasant morning and the brunette truly did loath the minutes that had begun only seconds after awakening. Being the person she was, and by those means simple, she attended school.

*Yay. Why not? School is totally compulsory when one has a really bad throat day and an upcoming fever that measured 39.8 (insert realistic measurement here) thought Nekana. No, just kidding, she didn’t know a fever would be coming.* - read in sarcastic monotone voice.

Nekana attended her class and for the day, seeing the girl without her water bottle that day was pure blasphemy. She was fish out of water without the cool liquid to slide down her throat. Within the first period (which was the first hour) her life source had finished and the sick girl resorted to her friend’s life-source instead. She dreaded the hours to come and the ones that passed; already.

Know that what came in the midst of her ritual (officially labelled as water-drinking) was that her fingers were cold. Her hands, from wrist down were like the ice-cream freezers. The chill normally be soothing if touched against skin in hot temperatures, but unsurprisingly the contrast between Nekana’s heating body heat and icy fingers were getting mildly uncomfortable.

School ends, the time everlastingly long yet short to an utmost relief.

Back home, such was the goal to the girl. Her head hurt, a dull pain knocks on her skull but it was fortunately to a bearable point. The side-effects of a feverish person were kicking in and luckily held the patience and the decency to wait, but with a single foot through the doorstep already. Before the registration of actions that included reaching the doorsteps and to a room, the girl found herself on the couch. It was grey in color with 2 brown pillows at a single side.

The room was in an office styled kind, the computers resided there. Bookshelves were plentiful, placed almost against every space of wall. Nekana was a book lover but the books that took home in these bookshelves were not of hers. They were of the business and human management kind that belonged to an adult. It read a language that the brunette had spoken and recognize throughout her entire life but the word all felt foreign to her in this aspect. Pictures of family and motivational quotes alike were lined up neatly in a staircase and horizontal fashion.

Her mind felt hazy and she was in certainly no condition to be describing rooms now. Tucked in with a blanket she’d gotten from her room, the brunette took a brief nap. A thermometer lay by her said and it was high the last time she checked (which was before she slept).

Evening came, and she was not thankful. Footsteps could be heard aiming her way, from the weight of it Nekana deemed it a man. The night was cold, yet so warm. The brunette was in turmoil. The icy tips of her toes and fingers were as cold as the dead. Her insides vibrated, organs that held no contact to the outside world shivered! To keep warm, 2 layers of blankets proved nothing to the heated cold that pierced fear even into Nekana’s organs. It was all so painful, the girl curled up into a ball like position and cold sweat soaked into the fabrics of her shirt yet again. Consequently leading to a colder touched skin. It was damp, uncomfortable, and polar.

brr...

Nekana was a stubborn person, proud of the fact she’d hadn’t the need to visit the clinic for years. And it was of no exaggeration that she was ill resistant, not entirely immune but with no need to visit a clinic whatsoever. It simply never reached such a point, so she held a proud record for it.

Until today. Her feet felt cold, but not due to fear. The sound of her pride and anti-doctor record shattered. Unwillingly, after some time of persuasion the second day came whereupon she’d have to haul herself up to go to a clinic. Which she did, sadly. She could feel droplets more of sweat squeezing out her skin. With each drop draining every more of a certain (psychological) pain to it.

A classical infection, he said. And so was the cause of her current troubles. The poor girl, the doctor mentioned. The poor girl was there mind you. Fortunately, the doctor was a friendly and nice person Nekana deemed so it was alright. Just a tad bit awkward as to how the old lad had already mentioned ‘poor girl’ a number of times already. The usual advice was given, as to what should mainly be avoided (fried foods take example), to rest more and water was of course an important part to the advice. (But no worries there, the cool liquid had already become very well acquainted with Nekana’s throat and bladder; the toilet became her next best friend)

The day came to a close, and Nekana had medication in mouthfuls. The girl was clear as the time for now was rest. It lasted a week though. Not the fever, the cough. Her frustration was understood.