It's cold.
My hair vaguely resembled straws of salt and pepper, neatly parted to my right. I normally ignore the greys despite my age, but today it stood out almost yelling its likeliness to my mood. The lump in my oesophagus felt like an irritated insect gnawing away at my throat, making it itch. The insect's wrath was felt by my head and eyes, the former aching and the latter watering. My lips were dry and the constant pounding itch pushed my tired legs into the bathroom. My hands cupped the water from the basin and in a swift movement washed it down my throat.
Insects hate water.
As I spat out the gargle, the pain subsided for a mere moment only to itch its way back with renewed vigour and rage. The insect was angered by the sudden gush, and I was paying the price.
I rushed now to the stove and waited with my droopy watery eyes and aching head for the water to heat. As it reached boiling point, I put my numb finger in the water only to find no feeling of warmth. yet, I poured it out into a glass and drank.
Slowly this time. The insect mustn't know.
As the soothing warm water caressed my inner pipes like molten lava, I felt my head letting go of its binds and my eyes sipping in the water. My lips were salivating and the dryness in my throat was gone. As the lava reached my guts, I felt the insect in me burn like a piece of paper subject to the wrath of the sun.
But it lived. The insect lived.
lava wasn't strong enough. The insect had me in its grasp. Although I told myself not to fall prey to its itch and demands, I found my hands go for the refrigerator and take out an ice cold bottle of water.
H2 WOE.
The insect was screaming now. In joy, as it anticipated the bacteria from the icy chills of the bottle to join it. It was to be fed. Like a parasite that it was, it had strayed into a much stronger being and made him fall to his knees.
As I sat kneeling beside the fridge, I felt my head burst again with heat. My throat dry and my eyes watery.
The Insect had won.
It's cold. And I hate parasites.
