I haven’t taken part in Friday Fictioneers in over a month which I was a little shocked by. I’m a little bit out of the rhythm of writing fiction so this took me a little while to think up and doesn’t make an obvious reference to the picture. However I have drawn from a tale my aunt told me about when she was trekking in the Himilayas and came across a little hut. I know it could be better, so I’m calling this a draft until I feel more inspired to do better.
Thank you Madison Woods once again for an evocative picture. If you want to take part in Friday Fictioneers then head over here
The fever lasted five days. It started off with chills running through my bones and a lightning bolt ricocheting in my skull. When the sickness took my body prisoner I could walk no further and lay by the river to sleep. When I woke an old man was gently patting my brow, I could feel his sandpaper hands brush against my skin reminding me that I was still present, still breathing.
I blinked away the bright light coming through the gaps in the stone wall, but his distorted face offered no detail. ‘Shh’ he said, so I went to sleep.