Sick

Sick

To determine whether he was sick or not, Patrick first needed to define "healthy." The first thing that occured to him was that a "healthy" person should have a steady pulse. He'd taken health in eighth grade, and he was pretty sure that was one of the things you were supposed to check if someone didn't look well. He put two fingers to his throat and started feeling for something resembling a pulse.

Nothing. No matter how he moved his fingers, or how hard he pressed, he could find no sign that his heart was pumping. He tried to sigh, but found that his lungs were empty of air.

When was the last time he'd inhaled? He couldn't remember. That wasn't good, either. However, thinking about it led to doing it. His lungs suddenly expanded to fill with air. He waited, and waited, and waited, but there was no exhale until he finally forced the thought.

A healthy person would not have to command his body to inhale and exhale, so that was also clearly wrong.

No pulse, no breathing, and what else? Didn't his good old eighth grade health teacher say something about... pallor? What was that? Paleness? Yeah.

Patrick dashed from his bedroom to the bathroom, glad that no one else was home to see him. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and stared at himself, or at least at where his reflection should have been. There was nothing there. He held out his hands in front of him. They looked solid enough. He touched the granite counter, and he could feel the smoothness of its polished surface. Yet, he didn't have a reflection.

Healthy people had reflections. This was the nail in the coffin. He was definitely sick.