His body burned and oozed with a thousand tortures, but screaming was impossible with so little oxygen left in his lungs. He felt as if he was nowhere and everywhere, filled with pain but numb, and he reached blindly toward nothing.
    When he opened his eyes, still shaking violently, he found himself seated on the couch. Just what had that woman given him? But he could not find his breath, or words to put on it. He couldn’t tell if he was sweating or crying. Through hazy vision he saw the old lady nod solemnly and return to the kitchen, rummaging through the pantry again. He was shivering, too weak to move. He could hear the whistle of a kettle followed by the smell of brewing tea.
    It would be a couple hours and many glasses of honey tea later that he felt strong enough to get up again. In his turmoil he hadn’t noticed the fact his hand had stopped smoking, and as he left he thanked her wholeheartedly, promising to return the following day.

The End

17 comments about this story Feed