His cough was worse this morning, much worse than the day before. He couldn't understand why it was getting worse after dosing himself with medications for the last week, but still it persisted. He had to go into work today, there was no question about it, he had missed a week already since his fever got worse, but thankfully it finally broke this morning. He hauled himself out of bed and sat on the edge, hacking and coughing, rumpled, sweat soaked sheets covering the lower half of his body. He rested his head in his shaking hands, waiting for a wave of nausea to pass. He has had the flu and fever before, but this was nothing like he ever had. It made him wonder if he ended up catching that H1N1 that the news has been going crazy about for months, but he had his shot, so that shouldn't have been possible.
He pulled himself together enough to get to the bathroom and start the water running in the shower. Straightening back up, a wave of dizziness struck him, sending him stumbling to the sink where he vomited up the medicine he look last night along with a clot of blood. Wheezing and coughing, he looked at his reflection and barely recognized the man staring back at him. His eyes, circled in black, were turning red from burst capillaries from the coughing fits. His face was pale, glistening with sweat that has been gathering on his cheeks and forehead for the past week. His beard was caked in dried and stale vomit chunks and matted into a snarled rug. He steadied himself and stripped off his boxers and stepped into the shower, letting the warm water run over his clammy body.
He wasn't sure how long he stood there, but the sound of a plastic shampoo bottle striking the tiles woke him up. He straightened the best he could and looked around, trying to figure out where he was again. He noticed a streak of red running down the shower door where his head was resting against. He checked his forehead and found no blood, but his nose was running like a leaky faucet. He pinched his nose and tilted his head back, but the wave of nausea returned and he wisely decided he shouldn't do that for this nosebleed. He turned the shower off and opened the door, stepping in to the steam wafting around the bathroom. He turned the fan on and watched the tendrils of steam float lazily to the ceiling. Using his towel to wipe the water from the mirror, he had to wait a moment before the room cleared enough for him to see himself. He wished it didn't. His eyes were almost totally red, with small streams of blood pouring from his tear ducts. A small patch of skin looked like it was infected with a flesh eating bacteria on his cheek. He backed away from the mirror in horror, watching the monster in the mirror as if it wasn't him. His eyes went crazy, looking for something, anything, that could help him. He pushed his way out of the bathroom, tripping over objects he would never remember, but ended up falling in front of the television that has been on for a week straight with never changing the channel. He could do nothing but make a hoarse coughing laugh as he noticed it was playing Dawn of the Dead.
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