There's something really off about this, I think it's because I'm not in the mood that I'm writing so crappily, but I have to be in the mood! So can you help me out here?
This is the first part.
A white frost blew through his heart and whistled like wind in the hollows of his bones. The blankets didn’t help much, two, three, at least they kept him from freezing. But they did nothing to prevent the bitter ache that crawled up his spine and ripped through his muscles like the teeth of a shark.
“?????” He forced his heavy eyelids to open, but even then the darkness stayed with him, little by little breaking into color. “??? ??????”
“I’m right here,” she said and he felt the weight of her hand on his forehead, “how are you doing?” Her face came into view, he could read the worry in the crease of her brow, the corners of her mouth. He reached a hand up to touch her face, but stopped short and let it fall down across his eyes. He was too weak to fight gravity today.
“?????? ... ?????…”
“English, you’ve got to keep your mind steady.” He struggled to remember all of the words he’d been taught so long ago. The pain closed around his mind like a vise and squeezed out everything he knew.
“Ahh…mama…it hurts…” he whispered giving her the only words he could find.
“What’s hurting?” Everything, he wanted to say.
“My back.”
“Has it gotten worse?” He nodded. She rolled him over onto his side and ran a hand over the two large lumps that shined bright red on his bluish skin. He winced and hunched his shoulders so that they protruded out farther, almost curving into points…
“Dear god,” she placed him back where he had been, crossed herself and said a quick prayer. He watched as she took a deep breath. “I think…I think it’s time to call 911.” Before he could say a word she stood and crossed the room towards the phone. His breath quickened and a fog drifted across his mind, something shoved against his consciousness and everything went black for a second. Then his vision swung. No, not 911. His heart roared in his chest. No, not 911.
“555 Panther Creek.” Get out. He shot up straight, grasping his thumping heart and gasping for air. Get out! His pupils turned in his eyeballs like a dial in a socket. They narrowed and lengthened, the focused. He gave the room a quick scan then rolled off of the sofa, landing on all four. As he straightened bones cracked and rearranged themselves, they pressed against the walls of skin and prodded through muscle—ripping through him like shards of glass. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, gaining speed as the proper ligaments popped back into their proper places and his head cleared leaving something strange.
“Symptoms. Stiff muscles, below average temperature, trouble breathing, and his back…he’s been complaining about it for weeks. They were small like mosquito bites at first, but now they’re these huge tumor like lumps and…is that bad?” Get out, get out. He cut across the living from and reached the front door. Claws tore him through from the inside out, his spine doubled him over as two stray bones stretched his skin three feet into the air—disappearing again as soon as he straightened. He reached for the doorknob.
“George? Wait, George, you can’t—d” His head swung in his mother’s direction and what she saw quieted her. She dropped the phone and stumbled backwards onto the kitchen floor. He cracked his knuckles, his toes, his neck, then he slithered out into the open before anyone could stop him.
This is the first part.
A white frost blew through his heart and whistled like wind in the hollows of his bones. The blankets didn’t help much, two, three, at least they kept him from freezing. But they did nothing to prevent the bitter ache that crawled up his spine and ripped through his muscles like the teeth of a shark.
“?????” He forced his heavy eyelids to open, but even then the darkness stayed with him, little by little breaking into color. “??? ??????”
“I’m right here,” she said and he felt the weight of her hand on his forehead, “how are you doing?” Her face came into view, he could read the worry in the crease of her brow, the corners of her mouth. He reached a hand up to touch her face, but stopped short and let it fall down across his eyes. He was too weak to fight gravity today.
“?????? ... ?????…”
“English, you’ve got to keep your mind steady.” He struggled to remember all of the words he’d been taught so long ago. The pain closed around his mind like a vise and squeezed out everything he knew.
“Ahh…mama…it hurts…” he whispered giving her the only words he could find.
“What’s hurting?” Everything, he wanted to say.
“My back.”
“Has it gotten worse?” He nodded. She rolled him over onto his side and ran a hand over the two large lumps that shined bright red on his bluish skin. He winced and hunched his shoulders so that they protruded out farther, almost curving into points…
“Dear god,” she placed him back where he had been, crossed herself and said a quick prayer. He watched as she took a deep breath. “I think…I think it’s time to call 911.” Before he could say a word she stood and crossed the room towards the phone. His breath quickened and a fog drifted across his mind, something shoved against his consciousness and everything went black for a second. Then his vision swung. No, not 911. His heart roared in his chest. No, not 911.
“555 Panther Creek.” Get out. He shot up straight, grasping his thumping heart and gasping for air. Get out! His pupils turned in his eyeballs like a dial in a socket. They narrowed and lengthened, the focused. He gave the room a quick scan then rolled off of the sofa, landing on all four. As he straightened bones cracked and rearranged themselves, they pressed against the walls of skin and prodded through muscle—ripping through him like shards of glass. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, gaining speed as the proper ligaments popped back into their proper places and his head cleared leaving something strange.
“Symptoms. Stiff muscles, below average temperature, trouble breathing, and his back…he’s been complaining about it for weeks. They were small like mosquito bites at first, but now they’re these huge tumor like lumps and…is that bad?” Get out, get out. He cut across the living from and reached the front door. Claws tore him through from the inside out, his spine doubled him over as two stray bones stretched his skin three feet into the air—disappearing again as soon as he straightened. He reached for the doorknob.
“George? Wait, George, you can’t—d” His head swung in his mother’s direction and what she saw quieted her. She dropped the phone and stumbled backwards onto the kitchen floor. He cracked his knuckles, his toes, his neck, then he slithered out into the open before anyone could stop him.