Eloise's Progress Jounral, Days 12-13
Friday, October 16th : down by the end of the grounds are large pastures, with green green grass, even by this time. It's a beautiful day - braid glitter and butterflies and joy through each other's hair.
Saturday, October 17th : health-checkup. all the girls will be submitted to a blood test, a bath, an eye test, etc.
I don't want to write. PTH. You loose.
Now, without further blahblahblah, I shall go watch Legally Blonde. For some reason, who knows why.
EDIT//: I added a stort for the next Eloise set's purposes. Please read!
On Saturday, October the 17th of 2009, all the Rose Loony girls were forced fed into a required check-up. Your humble narrator that is Eloise De Marcheliere too was subjected to such a foul waste of a Saturday, and was less than thrilled about having to wait in line just so she could be tossed around like a snotty tissue by some PhD M.D. with a bad tie and shiny smiley cheeks. In another world where girls are mentally sound, Mr. M.D. would've been the grand subject of swooning and we all would've fallen over ourselves faking sick, just so he would feel us up through a stethoscope. But this is not that world, and in our world, we like to spit and bite and 30 year old pretty boys who gives us baths. Who pokes our eyeballs, pricks our skin, and commands we pee in a cup. Shakes his help and says, 'Well, the good news is you aren't dying”.
I'd been really pretty rotten, but to hell like I'd ever say so. But still, they slung me into the medical room and sat me on the the big white cushy table with the paper on top that crinkled as my but jiggled over it. I slumped over, watching Mr. M.D. as he read over my files, so very quietly. I said, “What's Shakin', Doc?” But I sounded like Death, if Death was a nasally drag queen who'd once been the back metal singer of some Nordic band and lost his voice along with his glory days. And so my enthusiam was lost on Doc.
His eyes merely shot over the paper. “You don't sound very healthy, Eloise.”
“No sh*t, Sherlock.”
Sherlock cleared his throat, and stood up, lunging at me with a digital ear thermometer. “I'm just going to take your temperature.”
He pushed back my hair and stuck that parasite right in. After it made a faint little beep, Mr. M.D. echoed another “Mmm.” He walked around and figited with the papers some more, drawing out the suspense.
“Eloise, you have a very high tempertaure. 101 degrees. I'm going to ask the orderlies to bring you back to your room. You're to remain in bed until your temperature's back down to normal. And take these.”
His open plam reminded me of Jesus. Two jewels of anti virus pills gleamed in the center. I scooped them up, and poped them in my mouth, one then the other. I swallowed them dry.
Just as the orderly came into the room, ready to tuck me in or whatever she was meant to do, though, did I hack them up again, along with the toast I'd had for breakfast.
“Oh!” Exclaimed the orderly. Her feet had nearly been the target.
I attempted to sit up again, but Mr. M.D. and Ms. Orderly were spinning into this hazy dark lit phtonegative, their voices drifting in and out, with big, concerned eyes. I pawed for the edge of the bed, but missed and my hand swung limpling. Vomit flakes clung to my cheeks where I could feel them.
“Eloise? Are you...” He had a voice like Jusus too.
The light flicked. And soon I swam in black.
“Get her to her...”
Their voices came in and out like AM radio the rest of Saturday.
I slept in spurts, and remembered little.
“...you'll have to...”
“Let her get some...”
Eventually, though, their voices would subside. And I too, would dream.