Sweat: A Short Story

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Wood. My hands frantically felt around the floor, and consequently came across nothing but cold, wet wood. I could hear the wind whistling by, the leaves rustling outside, a few getting blown inside and onto my palm. Sweat. My hands shakily traced my face, and all I could feel was sweat. They hungrily reached for my drenched hair, running through my locks at a feverish pace. It was sticky, wet, and I could distinctly feel a few drops of sweat running down my back, departing from my head. My quaking fingers slowly came across a slightly large swelling on my crown, inducing a new wave of shivers down my weak spine. My whole body retracted as I fearfully touched the bleeding bump; the pain was too much. I guess the notion that the loss of one…show more content…
I wanted to swing my hand and knock out all of his teeth then and there. There was nobody more annoying, more infuriating, more disgusting than him. “Who. Are. You,” I asked once again, stressfully punctuating my words. “I have to make you eat this first,” he replied, bringing over a small bowl of what looked like boiled rice. He had a spoon ready and took a seat on the floor next to me. “I’m not going to eat that,” I said, staring at him. I restrained the impulse to knock the bowl out of his ungrateful hands and beat him up senselessly. He wearily sighed, as if he knew I was going to say that. “Unless you eat this, you are going to starve and die, because I’m not allowed to give you any of my food. You’re very weak and injured, and I don’t want any dead people in my house,” he drawled, his expression tired. “You’ve obviously poisoned this,” I said quite bluntly. It was true that my stomach had started to act up by then, and the nausea I was experiencing did not reduce the underlying hunger by a fraction. “Look, if I wanted you dead, I could have just kicked you around a bit more and you’d have been a goner. I clearly want to you alive, however annoying you may be, and therefore, could not have poisoned this unfortunate bowl of artificially fertilized and polished, chemical-ridden…show more content…
He was content with his ‘clever’ one upping of me, and his contentedness was nagging me by the second. My stomach was boiling as I tried to come up with a hard hitting reply, but the hunger and his overbearing ego stalled my mind from spewing anything but images of a full stomach and his dead body by my side. ‘What a narcissistic prick’, I thought, his hazel eyes unwavering from mine. Right at that moment, a low, growl-like noise sounded from my stomach, blowing my resolve. He began to laugh, the room resounding with his deep chuckles. Shocked and embarrassed beyond comparison, I clutched my stomach, perplexed as to why everything was happening against me. His chuckles evolved into full-fledged laughter; he dropped the bowl and spoon and fell to the ground. He was somehow able to pronounce a few words, albeit interspersed with quite a few instances of him breaking into laughter, and
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